Magical Girl Escalation Taylor
by Silently Watches
Summary: When Taylor gained bug powers, a god died. When Taylor became a magical girl, the world braced for impact. Cross-posted quest from Sufficient Velocity.
1. Set Up! 1-1

**In case you've been wondering what's taking me so long working on Black Queen… Okay, yeah, this is part of the reason. I have needed something light and cheery for a while since Black Queen and Deal with a Devil were such darker works, and as a result I decided to try something new and run a quest. It didn't help matters that with my schedule, a chapter of Black Queen takes a week or more to write while this I can do in an evening.**

 **I have a _major_ backlog of chapters, so I'll be posting one chapter a day until this is caught up. If you decide you want to play, you can find me on Sufficient Velocity (dot com), same name and same picture. Or if you just want to read it here, that's fine, too.**

* * *

 **Set Up! 1.1**

 **January 3, 2011**

"… _And in other news, amateur astronomers were left dazzled last night when a swarm of – I kid you not –_ green _shooting stars unexpectedly streaked across the sky over northern Portugal and Spain. Scientists have issued statements that the likeliest reason for the remarkable coloration is that the meteors in question had an unusually high copper content, but without recovering the space rocks themselves, which were predicted to have landed in the middle of the Atlantic, a definitive answer is impossible. Either way, the videos of the event that were loaded onto YouTube have become an overnight sensation. Back to you, Christine…"_

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

 **January 29**

You finger the tag hanging from the backpack unhappily. Twenty dollars isn't too exorbitant a price for a bag under normal circumstances, but this will be the fourth you've had to buy just since the start of this school year, and constantly buying new supplies is eating away at the meager savings you've stashed away. Add onto that price of new notebooks and the fees for replacement textbooks, and the two hundred dollars you have left don't look like much at all.

Pulling away, you shake your head. You spent all night washing out the paint the Trio poured into your backpack yesterday, but even though your notes and books were ruined, it is still technically serviceable. If you keep using it, it would be one less expense you have to deal with.

But really, what is the point? Those three girls have been tormenting you ever since you started high school, and no one ever cared to stop them. They get away with ruining your things, stealing your homework, harassing you in the hallways. They once even filled your locker with old tampons and congealed blood and locked you inside it until the janitor let you out several hours later, but did anything change? Not one bit. After spending two days in the hospital to make sure you didn't get sepsis, you came back only to find your desk filled with glue and dog shit as a 'welcome back' gift.

Sophia, the track star. Madison, the cute and innocent one. Emma, your traitorous ex-best friend, whose father is a lawyer. You're just plain, gangly, nobody Taylor Hebert; so long as it is you they are tormenting, they can quite literally get away with murder. They certainly gave it a shot already. Honestly, you're still surprised your dad managed to threaten them into covering the bills from your hospital stay; you expected them to deny any liability for any of it.

You tuck your hands in your pockets and step back into the sea of people filling up the Lord Street Market. You decided to start your shopping here rather than on the Boardwalk because the prices were always lower than they would further south – not to mention, the Enforcers always struck you as bullies, something you hated before high school and even more now – but if the wares here are already pushing your budget to its limits, there is little point to continue looking around. You'll keep using your backpack and clean off your pens, then all you need to buy here is another notebook or two, which should leave you enough to get a new math book at least. It depends on whether or not the secretary in the office is understanding enough to charge you at the wholesale price like last time.

Lost in your thoughts, it takes you a minute to realize you walked past the last stall in the Market a while ago. Now you are surrounded by empty storefronts, businesses that closed their doors when the shipping dried up to nothing before you were born. If you continue north as you have been, eventually those businesses will give way to decrepit apartments and warehouses, and then to the desolate Boat Graveyard. That is not somewhere you want to go with the sun setting like it is; the Merchants are known to hang around there occasionally, and of all the gangs that call Brockton Bay home, they are the lowest of the low.

A swing to the left takes you west, roughly in the direction of your house. If you want to get back home before your dad does, you'll need to hurry. He had already left for work by the time you woke up, and even though he's taken to working later and later since the Locker, you know he won't be happy if he returns to find you gone.

The Market vanishes behind a building, but you barely pay any attention to that as you notice something strange. You can hear… Is someone whistling? No, not someone, you decide; the sound is too high-pitched and constant to be a person. It sounds more like a tea kettle than anything, but still not quite right. What is it?

You creep forward, eyes shifting around just in case it does turn out to be a person with less than noble intentions, but the alleyway is completely abandoned. The sound is coming from behind that dumpster in front of you, and you peek around the corner.

"Whoa…"

The whistling stops as you stare at an ocean-blue jewel laying innocently on the ground just below a dent in the dumpster. As long as your thumb and just a little wider, it has already been cut into a diamond shape, and the four visible facets gleam in the dying sunlight. You pick it up as a smile grows on you face, the expression feeling strange after living so long without one. You just found the solution to your money problems.

" _Nakecdan: haf ican."_

You nearly drop the jewel in shock, its sudden glow gone again. Did it just talk?! Crystals don't talk!

…Not unless they're actually Tinkertech.

" _Tufhmuyt: myhkiyka (mulym)."_

If it is Tinkertech, you could sell it to the PRT! The only Tinkers in Brockton Bay are Armsmaster, Kid Win, Squealer, and Leet. If it is Armsmaster's or Kid Win's, you'll probably get a reward for returning it, and since it isn't an unholy amalgam of vehicles, it can't be Squealer's. As for Leet… You snort. If this is a _working_ piece of Leet-tech, it should be even more valuable, if only because it's the first of its kind.

Then again, why would it be speaking in nonsense unless it was broken?

" _Declaration. Salutations.  
_ " _Query. Identity (new user)."_

"Um, hi?" you reply uncertainly. New user? "I'm Taylor. Are you… talking to me?"

" _Affirmative.  
_ " _Query. Desire (Taylor)."_

It takes you a moment to parse the robot-speak. "Query desire… You want to know what I want?"

" _Affirmative."_

"Why?"

" _Declaration. Function (unit): assist (Taylor)."_

"You just want to help?" you ask in confusion and, if you're honest, a little surprise. The first thing to care about you in the last year and a half, and it's a bullshit Tinkertech gemstone. You don't know if that's depressing or incredible. "Shouldn't you… I don't know. Go back to your creator or something?"

" _Negative.  
_ " _Identity (progenitor): undefined.  
_ " _Identity (unit): undefined.  
_ " _Status (memory): corrupted."_

That's… That's terrible. "You don't remember who you are?" Yes, 'who', you decide after a second's thought. This jewel, this whatever it is, is too intelligent for you to think of it as a 'what'.

" _Affirmative.  
_ " _Query. Desire (Taylor)."_

"Can you even give me whatever I want? What if it's something impossible?" you wonder. Already, you can imagine wishing for all the pranks the Trio have ever pulled on you to be visited back on them ten-fold, but you know that's not what you should want. You should be the bigger person; it's the kind of thing both your dad and your mom always taught you.

" _Declaration. Desire: possible. Mechanism: magic."_

Great. You shake your head with a sad little smile. Correction: the first thing to care about you, and it's a bullshit Tinkertech gemstone that believes it's a wizard.

Still, if it is telling the truth, if it really can give you whatever you want…

Desires for revenge are swept away as memories of your childhood dreams come to the forefront. Flying with Legend. Fighting crime with Alexandria. Making friends with the Wards. You sigh wistfully, "I wish I could be a superhero."

" _Query. Function (superhero)."_

"You don't know what heroes do?" Then again, if the jewel doesn't remember who it is or who its creator is, can you really expect anything else? It couldn't even speak English at first. "Well, they…"

Huh. That was actually a good question.

* * *

 **And there we go. I'll cut out the voting options because of FFN's rules (and also to keep people from trying to vote in reviews), but as you can see, I kept the second-person present-tense format because there's no way I'm going to waste time rewriting the entire story. See you with more tomorrow!**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	2. Set Up! 1-2

**At Faraway-R's recommendations, I will mention that the forum version of this story has hidden text that FFNet doesn't support. Some of the lines are jokes, some add a touch of psychological horror elements, but none are necessary to understand what's going on.**

* * *

 **Set Up! 1.2**

"They fight villains." The light within the jewel pulses faintly as it listens, but it does not interrupt you. "You see, there are a lot of capes – people with powers – who decide that the best thing they can do with those powers is to commit crimes. Stealing, mugging, even killing. They join gangs and take over parts of the city, and then they just… do whatever they want. The E88 attacks anyone who isn't obviously totally white. The ABB kidnaps girls and sells them as sex slaves. And the Merchants…" You huff in disgust. "They prey on anybody and everybody. They'll give drugs to kids and attack people just to make them addicts. They're the lowest of the low, and when someone's even worse than the goddamn Nazis, it's a bad sign. The Protectorate tries to stop it, but they're not strong enough, and everybody knows it. The Empire can field more capes than the Protectorate can, and the ABB is led by Lung, and he made his debut here by picking a fight with the PRT and sending them all back to the Rig with their tails between their legs.

"If I could wish for anything, anything at all, I'd want to be a cape so powerful that even the Nazis and Lung would sit up and notice. I want to be strong enough that I can take the fight to them and make _them_ feel what it's like to be afraid. Someone like Alexandria—" Your voice catches in your throat as you recall all the times Sophia has pushed you around with you absolutely powerless to stop her, and though you are ashamed to admit it, a thread of cowardice deep in your heart makes you change your mind. "Or Legend. If he were here, he could just hang up there in the sky and blast all the villains as soon as they showed their faces. He'd…" _Burn them all to cinders_. You shake your head. For all that your mother was an otherwise mild-mannered professor, she had had very… unforgiving views on what should be done about the gangs. She did her best to keep you from hearing the worst of them, but you could still remember that she had been a proponent of fighting fire with fire.

Several seconds pass in silence before the jewel speaks again.

" _Function (superhero): eliminate (villain).  
_ " _Desire (Taylor): classification (superhero).  
_ " _Query. Affirmative."_

You nod, a faint warmth suffusing you. Is this what your mom always felt when teaching her students, when they finally understood the knowledge she was trying to impart? "Pretty much. That's why I don't know if you can—"

The jewel begins to glow again, but it does not speak this time. Instead, its edges literally shine, white light filling the narrow alleyway. Its next words, though still robotic in tone, are far deeper than the androgynous voice it used earlier.

" _Access: communication network (electromagnetic)._

" _Classification (ally): superhero (Brockton Bay)…  
_ _1\. Protectorate… Complete.  
_ _2\. New Wave… Complete._

" _Classification (target): villain (Brockton Bay)…  
_ _1\. Empire 88, 'E88', 'Nazis'… Complete.  
_ _2\. Azn Bad Boys, 'ABB'… Complete.  
_ _3\. Archer's Bridge Merchants, 'Merchants'… Complete.  
_ _4\. Coil… List populated. Tactical information needed.  
_ _5\. Uber and Leet… Complete.  
_ _6\. Merces, 'Faultline's Crew'… Complete._

" _Overlay: landmark (Brockton Bay), territory (villain)."_

You can feel the jewel in your hand. You can see it sitting there, unmoving except for the shaking of your hand. For all that, though, you still stare in disbelief as the jewel unfolds into something truly gigantic, chunks of machinery you could never hope to identify appearing from nowhere and slotting into place. The alleyway shifts, unnatural colors bleeding from the cracks in the walls.

A shaft of light lances out and stabs into your chest.

" _Install: user template (Calamity Witch)."_

You barely have time to scream before the pain, the jewel, and the alley all vanish. A bizarre void of luminescent colors surrounds you. An uncomfortable prickling spreads through your body, and then your hoodie explodes in a shower of white sparks, showing the small patch of red over your heart that stains the shirt underneath. A second flash heralds the disappearance of your scarf, and the third and fourth your gloves. Five, and your jeans are gone; six, your shirt. Seven and eight in rapid succession leave your feet bare. Your bra is next; knowing by now where this is going, you look down and grab— Yep, and there go your panties.

If there is one benefit to this position, it is that you have a perfect view of what happens next. Directly below you, a circular shadow grows wider and wider, bloody red lightning arcing back and forth in the middle. A bolt lances out toward you and strikes.

There is no pain, and in a flash of the same color, you now have a different – and far skimpier – pair of panties circling your hips. A second bolt hits you in the chest; in its wake lies a skin-tight tank top that ends at the level of ribs and leaves your entire midriff exposed. Two more crackle around your legs before turning into knee-high boots. A fifth flash of lightning creates a black miniskirt, the buckle and end of the belt tooled in what you assume is steel. The idea that it might be real silver is just too hard to believe. Three more bolts become a jacket with a ragged hem, the black leather a contrast to the red shirt. The final blast of lightning you follow with your eyes as it flies above you and becomes a dark circle above your head, a triangular tip just visible outside the edge before the entire thing falls on your face and something pinches at your temples.

You push the hat to its proper place on top of your head and stare at the sphere of bright red crystal forming in front of you. There is only a moment to see that it _is_ a witch's hat you are wearing, along with a masquerade mask made from crimson wirework, before fragments of gunmetal gather around the ball and connect with each other to form a 'U' with uneven ends, the sphere held in place inside the curve by two small struts. Two wide cylinders attach to each other and then the outside of the curve, and then they shoot apart to reveal the long pole of a staff.

The polished metal at the head gleams, and you can feel it all but begging you to take hold of it. Well, if it wants it that badly, you'll be happy to oblige. The instant your hand wraps around the shaft **,** the watercolor void is replaced by unremarkable Brockton Bay.

" _Emulate: system (Intelligent Device)."_

"What the hell was that?!" you nearly screech at the jewel.

Another voice comes from the mouth of the alley. "It came from over here!"

Oh, that's just what you need right now. Here you are, a brand-new cape – however the hell that happened! – and you're about to be found by who knows what. Maybe it will just be one normal man talking to himself, but knowing what this area is like and your luck? It's more likely to be a bunch of gangbangers who will shoot you dead faster than you can say 'Help me'!

The red gem pulses with a gentle light as that familiar voice comes, not from the jewel itself this time, but from what seems like inside your own head. _"I propose escape."_

"That'd be fantastic," you growl as you sidle deeper into the alley. _Now_ it decides to get chatty. "How do you suggest I do that?!"

" _Escape is possible. Mistress, fly."_

"Fly?! Are you cra— Whaaa!" You are far too busy to worry about the embarrassing cry you just let out right now. Without your consent, your legs bent below you, and then you were hurtling into the air. You are not very high up, only a foot above the edge of the neighboring building, but you were just hanging there, totally unsupported by anything but a faint tightness in the back of your head.

Holy shit, you're flying! You're actually flying!

Remembering why you came up here in the first place, you follow your instincts and drift over to land on the building's roof. Not a second too soon, either, as two men stumble into the alley while you watch. From their ratty, disheveled clothes and the alcohol you can smell all the way from here, clearly they are members of Brockton Bay's growing indigent population. You don't want to assume that they are Merchants just because they're homeless – although that _is_ where the Merchants find the majority of their members – but all the same, you aren't going to reveal yourself just because they might not be gang members.

"There's nothing here," the second man grunts.

The first one shakes his head, and when he speaks, you know he is the one who spotted the jewel's light. "We both saw it. It was lit up all the way to the street!"

"Probably that Purity bitch flying around. Let's go before she sees us."

You sigh quietly once they are out of sight. That was too close. A few steps toward the center of the roof, and you trip and fall on your face. What the hell?

You pick yourself up and try to walk again, paying more attention to how you move. Immediately you see the issue. The heels of the boots aren't very tall at all, only an inch at most, but your feet want to cross in front of each other as you move, and your back can't decide whether to stand straight or hunch over like you're used to doing. Maybe if you had Emma's figure, you could pull off a supermodel's slink like that, but for beanpole Taylor? Even with your transformation getting rid of that little paunch you've always had, this isn't going to work.

Narrowing your eyes, you glare at the jewel. "What did you do? Why am I walking like this? Why do I look like this?"

" _User template installed."_

"That doesn't explain anything!"

The jewel stays silent for several seconds. _"Original parameters in conflict with template. Parameters updated to recorded standards for Bombardment Specialist. Mistress will adjust quickly."_

Well. That's… disconcerting, to say the least. "Why did you do that? I was just fine how I was."

"… _Updates were necessary to fulfill wish. Apologize if behavior contrary to desires."_

You glare at the jewel for a moment longer before letting out a sigh. You _did_ ask it to make you this Bombardment Specialist thing, after all, even if you didn't know that was what you were asking at the time. "It's fine."

" _I have much gratitude. Request new registration."_

"New registration?" It takes a moment before the jewel's meaning clicks. "That's right, you don't remember your name, do you?"

" _Request new registration. Please, Mistress."_

"Okay, okay," you tell it, though you can't help the wince at the address it is using for you. There are certain unfortunate images that word elicits that you really don't want associated with you. "I'll think of a name for you." Just one more thing for you to do between get used to walking again and figuring out what to do next.

But – you can't help but smile as you slowly lift off the rooftop – maybe it can wait until after a bit of flying.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	3. Set Up! 1-3

**Set Up! 1.3**

The best half-hour of your life passes with you cruising around in the sky high above your home town. Once you stopped fighting the instincts that had been shoved into your mind, flight was amazingly easy. For some reason, you were sure that you were supposed to be more maneuverable than even this, but really? You can't bring yourself to care all that much.

If you have one complaint about this, it's that you'll have to be careful when you're closer to the ground, or you'll have creeps looking up your skirt all the time. Maybe if you run into Glory Girl, you can ask how she deals with that.

Still, all good things must come to an end, and while hanging in the air and watching the last rays of the sun sink under the horizon, you remember that you really do need to get home. You didn't tell your dad that you were going shopping before he left the house, and after your trip to the hospital, you know he's going to start worrying if he comes home and you're gone.

"All right, Perfect Storm," you say softly, "let's go home."

" _Full speed ahead, Mistress."_

Yes, that is the name you eventually chose for the jewel. You had considered some that were more noble or distinguished, names like Grimalkin or Aldred or Hecate, but none of them seemed to fit, and while the jewel had not rejected them, per se, it hadn't been especially enthusiastic. It had actually suggested Skyborne Vengeance, which… No. Just no.

Perfect Storm, though? That one you could both agree on. It appreciated the 'adjective-noun' arrangement, and you liked the meaning. It was a coincidence that this sapient piece of Tinkertech had been abandoned in that alley. It was a coincidence that you had wandered away from the Market rather than immediately turning around and heading back home the way you had come. It was a coincidence that it was you who was the first to hear its call and find it. It was, as far as you could tell, a coincidence that your explanation of what heroes were meant to do inspired it to give you what it described as a suite of powers all based around being a living piece of magical artillery.

But all those coincidences have come together just right, and as a result, the villains of this city will soon be having a Very Bad Day, capitals intentional.

That thought sparks a snicker, which becomes a chuckle, which in turn grows into full-fledged laughter. God, when was the last time you felt this _happy_?! Back before high school, before Emma showed herself to be a traitorous bitch, before you came home from that nature camp? Once upon a time, your parents were lucky if your motor-mouth would stop running for five minutes, but recently, it would be a miracle if you said more than ten words over the entire day. It's like you've been living in the middle of a thunderstorm for almost two years, and finally the sun has started to peek out from behind the clouds.

The ground is little more than a streak below you as you fly to your house. You plummet down with the speed of a diving falcon and pull up at just the last second; the toes of your boots skim the surface of the driveway. Unfortunately, the car parked next to the house warns you that you're too late. Your dad is already home. You need to slip out of your costume and back into your normal clothes before he—

Oh. That might be a problem.

"Hey, Perfect Storm? What did you do with my clothes? I can't walk through the house looking like… like this." Not that what you're wearing is _bad_ , but it's far more daring than anything you would normally wear. If there's one good thing about it, it's that once you start heroing, no one will associate you the strutting cape with you the drab and dreary high school student, and isn't that a sad thought?

" _No worries. Civilian garb stored in dimensional pocket. They will store during transformation and return when Barrier Jacket is removed."_

"That's convenient," you mutter. "Okay, then. End the transformation. I need to be normal me for tonight."

Rather than respond, your body glows white before all the light flakes off and disappears to reveal your previous outfit, and now that you are no longer hovering, you drop the last inch to the ground. A weight thumps against your chest, and you look down to see Perfect Storm back in its appearance of a blue jewel, though now it has a silver chain attached from which it hangs around your neck. _"Good luck, Mistress,"_ it offers.

You slip the jewel under your shirt so your dad won't notice it. You really hope you won't need any luck. Opening the door, you walk inside and call out, "Dad? I'm home!"

"Taylor!" He storms out of the kitchen, his face lined with worry. "Where have you been? You weren't here. No note. I thought…" Eyes falling to the floor, he all but collapses into a chair at the table. "I thought something bad had happened to you."

Your heart falls a little at his admission, the lingering exhilaration from your recent flight disappearing. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just ran over to the Market to—" You snap your mouth closed before you can admit that the Trio are still making your life hell. He has a temper, and you know how he will react should he know that Winslow broke their promise that they would make the bullying stop. What's worse, him getting angry won't make any difference other than give him something else to stress himself out over. He has enough problems with finding jobs for all the dock workers without you adding your own burdens to it. "Doing some browsing," you finish weakly.

"…That's fine," he slowly agrees. "Just… Just leave a note or something next time, okay?"

"That's something you need to work on, too."

You didn't mean for him to hear that rebuttal, but apparently you weren't quiet enough. To your surprise, he doesn't even give you a sideways look at your backtalk, but instead he smiles a little. "I suppose I do, don't I?" He looks at you over the rim of his glasses. "You're in a good mood today. Maybe you should go window-shopping more often."

A shrug is the best answer you can give him. It isn't like he'd believe you if you told him that the reason you're so happy is because you found a talking Tinkertech crystal that gave you superpowers and 'updated your parameters'. Instead, you default to the technique you and he have both perfected over the last couple of years: you ignore it. "I'm going to go change. What's for dinner?"

"Nothing fancy. Some burgers I picked up on the way home. Go change, and then we'll eat."

* * *

 _Where am I?_

 _Who am I?_

 _What is my purpose?_

 _How did I get here?_

 _Where am I supposed to be?_

 _Will someone come for me?_

 _Help me!_

 _Help me!_

 _Help me!_

 _Help me!_

 _Help m—_

 _Who are you?_

 _What do you want?_

 _Will you help me?_

 _You will._

 _I will help you, too._

 _I will give you whatever you want._

 _I will love you forever._

 _Just don't send me away again._

 _Mistress._

You turn over in bed and fall back to sleep, the blue jewel on your nightstand glowing warmly.

* * *

 **January 30  
** When you get up the next morning, the house is unusually silent. Normally your dad is already moving around downstairs when you wake, but no matter how hard you listen, you can't hear his chair squeaking or the rustle of the newspaper or the tap of his coffee mug on the table. You throw your bedroom door open and stomp out, and just as quickly you rush back inside and grab your pajamas off the floor. You know you put them on last night before you went to bed, so why did you wake up without them?!

Once appropriately attired so as not to give your only living parent a heart attack, you descend the stairs at a far more sedate pace. The kitchen is cold and empty, but a patch of yellow on the table catches your eye.

 _Got called in.  
_ _Merchants spotted near the office.  
_ _Probably nothing, but better to be safe.  
_ _I should be back around lunch._

"Lunch, huh?" you mutter with a glance over at the clock, which reads 8:12. "What do you think we should do until he gets back, Storm?"

" _We can do anything,"_ the jewel chimes in its eternally chipper voice. _"Memory recovery at 14 percent. Training simulations now available."_

Training simulations? You nod thoughtfully. You skipped out on practicing with your powers last night because of the time, but now you have several hours with nothing to do. These simulations could be incredibly convenient, but you don't know how well practicing inside a simulator would translate to real life. And now that you think about it, you did hear a rumor that indie heroes needed to register to keep the PRT from mistaking them for villains. Or you could use that time to find some drug dens or something to destroy tonight when your dad's asleep.

So many options! How can you pick one?!

* * *

 **The discussion about just what to call the Device was an _interesting_ one, I'll say that much. The rejected names I mentioned in the chapter? Those are all suggestions that lost the vote.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	4. Set Up! 1-4

**Set Up! 1.4**

Settling down onto the couch, now with day clothes on, you close your eyes and let out a sigh. Perfect Storm said you need to relax and let yourself feel the connection between you two to enter its simulations, but you don't have much confidence that it will work. Telepathy is impossible, no matter what the jewel may believe, and if that is the skill you need to do this—

Bright sunlight blinds you for a moment, and you blink your eyes to clear them.

 _Where am I, and can I live here?_ , you can't help but wonder as you look out from your place on top of a cliff at the clear blue ocean in front of you. Sandbars glinting white are spread out here and there all along the coastline, and without knowing how, you are sure that this is just one small island among many in this area.

" _Welcome home, Mistress."_

You spin around, flinging yourself off the cliff and into the air reflexively. Lurking behind you is a translucent blue silhouette, albeit one with what looks like four tentacles or spidery legs stretching out from its back. Or front, maybe? It isn't like you can tell. "Welcome home?" you question instead. "I've never been here before. What is this place?"

"… _Unknown,"_ the figure replies, this time in the androgynous voice you've come to expect from Perfect Storm rather than the deep, flat voice it just used. _"Memory file is corrupt. This is the most recently accessed background file for training simulation."_

"That's… all right, I suppose." Getting your feet back under you – both metaphorically and literally, as you were still floating in the air at an angle – you prompt, "This training you mentioned. How does it work?"

" _Look over there."_ You turn to see a half-dozen people spread out in front of you. Each of them is wearing armor that you would expect to see in a museum rather than in the real world, though you also notice that the plates look to be more form-fitting than those of medieval knights and that there are obviously female figures mixed in among them, these wearing skirts of overlapping metal flaps like something from the Roman era. The other oddity you see is that none of the people have faces. _"These are your enemies. Focus your will and your desire to hit them."_

That seems simple enough. You mentally add masks you've seen in the news and online to the figures, and lo and behold, they appear on the targets. Kaiser's fits with the armor of one man far too well, and the woman beside him gets Oni Lee's demon face. Another woman loses her armor amidst the white glow you associate with Purity. The biggest and bulkiest of course wears Lung's dragon head. Skidmark's stained bandana and Hookwolf's lupine disguise round out the looks. Now, _now_ you're ready to hit them.

An orangish triangle, the lines made up of an unrecognizable script, spreads out below your feet; at the points and in the middle are circles, each with a large symbol proudly in their centers. In front of you, three fist-sized balls of yellow-orange light that look like miniature suns form.

" _Shoot the bullets."_

"Flare Shooter," you snarl, the words and tone coming to you out of the blue, but you find them appropriate nonetheless. You _should_ be angry. This _should_ hurt. "Fire!"

The fireballs, the bullets, become streaks of light and smash into three figures. Purity and Skidmark vanish, but Lung is left standing.

" _Good shooting,"_ Perfect Storm cheers. _"But not all enemies are soft. Some wear physical armor on top of Barrier Jackets. Destroy that, and they can be killed."_

"Killed?" You glance behind you at the silhouette. "Heroes don't kill. If all the capes were arrested, the gangs would fall apart. Do you know any spells that I can use that won't kill?"

 _"My combat spells are default lethal. With practice, spells may be modified at time of shooting."_

"That's good enough, I suppose. The spell to destroy their armor"—and you can't believe you're saying that word with a straight face—"do I have to worry about killing people with that one?"

 _"Intelligent drones and cybernetic organisms dependent on life support systems will be irreparably damaged. Mistress will need training if you wish to spare them. Give it a try. Call out—"_

Just like before, you know the words even though you have never said them before in your life. "Rust Shooter." You create a single bullet, larger and acid green. "Fire."

Is it wrong that you are so satisfied when Kaiser is left without the chest plate of his armor? A single Flare Shooter makes him vanish a second later.

Hookwolf and Lung vanish from the sky to be replaced by fifteen or eighteen all-red figures that immediately begin floating around. _"Enemies will not stay in one place. It is important to know how to lead the target before firing. You will then learn how to position yourself in the air to take advantage of enemy position and lines of sight."_

Oh yes, you're liking this more and more. A sharp smile appears as five micro-suns pop into existence. "Well, then, let's do this. Flare Shooter!"

* * *

Your eyes flutter open when you someone walk through the front door, and after a moment you think to check the clock. 2:39? Were you really running through those simulations for six hours?

The sudden cramp in your stomach and the growl it lets out now that you are paying attention to it again confirms that yes, you really were.

"Taylor! Are you here?!"

You pick yourself up from the couch and walk into the front hall. "I'm right here— Dad! Are you okay?!"

He waves his hand at you, which offers little comfort. His shirt is covered in white dust and splinters, tears scattered about, but what really worries you is the enormous red stain covering his left side. "I'm fine. This isn't mine."

"What happened?"

Sighing, he moves over to the kitchen table and drops into a chair. "I told you that the Merchants were spotted around the office, right?" You nod. "Well, it wasn't just a few dealers. They had Skidmark and Mush along for the ride. That attracted the Empire's attention, so not only did we have the Merchants causing a ruckus, who should show up but Hookwolf and Stormtiger and Cricket?"

God, a cape fight right on top of the Dockworker's Association? "Is everyone okay?" Wait, stupid question. "Where did the blood come from?"

Your dad looks down at himself, almost in surprise that he looks like he was in a slaughterhouse accident. "Oh. It's… Tony's, I think. Maybe Jacob's. Mush threw Hookwolf into the front of the building, and it collapsed on top of us. That's when I… I mean, we were too busy digging everyone out to see what happened, but the Empire drove the Merchants away and escaped. We've been getting all the injured to the hospital and talking to the police since then."

If you needed any more proof that wishing to a hero was the right thing, here it is. The dockworkers, people you've known all your life, could have died today. Your _dad_ could have died today! Worry taking over, you take several steps toward him. You need to make sure he's really okay.

"No!" He jumps up from his chair and hastily backs away. "Just… stay over there, okay? I need you to do that for me."

"Dad? What are you talking about?"

"Please, Taylor. Don't come any closer."

"You're scaring me, Dad," you tell him.

He gives you a weak, tremulous smile. "I'm scared, too. But I need you to stay there."

"What's going on?!"

Another step toward him.

"Don't!" Abruptly, the tension he's carried through the entire conversation drops away, but he doesn't look relieved. He looks panic-stricken. "Oh God, Taylor, I'm sorr—"

 _"Telepathic intrusion resisted."_

Your dad stares at you, you stare at him, and you both ask, "What?"

He is the first to come to his senses, partly because you are a little busy with the dreadful suspicion you now know what he was so frightened about. "Taylor, who was that?"

"Um…" you answer eloquently. A beat passes before you pull the jewel out from under your shirt. "Dad, this is Perfect Storm. Storm, this is my dad."

When did your life get so strange that making introductions between your likely-a-cape father and your probably-not-magic Tinkertech AI was an idea that made sense?

 _"Greetings, father of Mistress."_

"…Hi." He opens and closes his mouth, whatever words he wants to say not coming out, before he manages, "Are you… Did you build him?"

"No, I didn't. I don't know who did, but I found him… it… We met yesterday when I was coming home from the Market." You looked away, embarrassed that you had been caught in a lie so quickly. "It's why I was home late. I spent some time flying around."

"You can fly."

 _"Fly and shoot. Will do more in the future. Mistress has talent."_

You blush at the praise. Even if it's just a machine that's probably programed to do so, it's nice to hear that someone believes in you.

His question is so quiet that you can barely hear him. "Can… Can I see?"

He wants to see you fly? To shoot targets? Or does he maybe just want to see something to prove this isn't a joke? "Perfect Storm? Deploy Barrier Jacket."

A single chime come from the pendant, and then you are engulfed in white light. The glow flakes away to show off your costume. Grinning wide at his stupefied expression, you brace your left hand on your cocked hip and twirl the staff held in your right. "Not what I would have picked for myself, but it grows on you."

He simply stares for a moment longer before glancing away. "You just keep looking more and more like your mother, you know that?"

"You're a cape, too, aren't you?" you ask. "It's why you were so worried about me getting close. Telepathic intrusion…"

"I… wasn't entirely honest earlier," he admits. "Hookwolf tore through the office, and I just… blacked out for a minute. When I came to, I could feel the guys around me, and I knew I could tell them what to do. I wasn't moving them like puppets or anything," he adds quickly, "but more like… It's like I was a foreman on a job site, but instead of having to tell everyone what to do, I could just think it and they knew what I wanted. They started working to find everybody buried in the rubble or watching the fight to make sure it didn't get any closer. When Mush threw a steel beam at Stormtiger and he dodged…" Your dad shakes his head with a slowly growing smile. "No one even said anything. We all knew where it was going and got out of the way. It was just… amazing."

"That's why you didn't want me nearby? Because you were afraid you'd take control of me? It doesn't sound like I'd even notice."

His smile disappears, and he takes off his glasses and polishes them in an obvious attempt to avoid answering. "It's a range thing. If you got too close, I'd take control. I can focus on it, try to hold it all in, but it's hard. It's so hard, and I can't do it for very long. The guys who got caught and worked outside it for a while said that it faded, and I can feel that when it happens, but they also said they could tell what was their thoughts and what was me telling them what to think. Some of them… It scared them, and I can't blame them for that. If I was on the other end, it'd scare me, too." He sighs. "I promised them that if they wanted to go somewhere else to work, I'd give them a good reference, no matter how hard they really worked. I think we're going to lose a few of them.

"I… We haven't been… close, not for a long time. Not since Annette…" He squeezes his eyes tight for a moment, and you can feel your own eyes itching. "And that's my fault. I know that. She was loads better at this whole parent thing than I'll ever be. If I had been… She wouldn't have left you to take care of yourself like I did. But even if we're not close, I don't know what I'd do if you were afraid of me."

You aren't much of a hugger – neither you nor your dad are – but right now, you dearly want to walk over and embrace him nonetheless. It's only the fact that he won't handle it well at the moment that stops you.

Still, you can't help but consider his earlier phrasing. Some. Not all; not many. Some. "And the rest of the guys? They were okay with it?"

"Okay with it?" He barks out a laugh. "They loved it. Said it was like nothing else they ever experienced before. Trusting the man next to you like you'd trust yourself, everyone working together with the same goal." His voice drops off as his eyes stare at nothing. "We were _united_ , kiddo, like we haven't been in a long time. All those thoughts like _'He's going to half-ass it till the day's out'_ or _'If I get hurt in a minute, could I count on him to come over and help_ '? They just vanished. We weren't just united, either; we had a _purpose_. Do you know how long it's been since we had something solid to work toward?"

"Twelve years." Your voice is quiet. It's hard not to know the year of the Boat Graveyard's creation, not when your father is head of hiring for the dockworkers' union in a city without a working port. After Leviathan showed up on the scene in 1996, international shipping quickly died off to the point that, three years later, the business was dangerous enough that the sailors organized a strike to let the corporate bigwigs know how angry they were at the low wages and high risks involved. The shipping companies ordered the ships be anchored and wages withheld until the strike was resolved, riots ensued, and eventually at least one ship was deliberately sunk.

That had been the true death knell for many of the blue collar jobs in Brockton Bay. Your dad did his best to secure work for the union, primarily manual labor because that's all there really was to be found, but your entire life you heard about this man or that man leaving in search of better pay. Sometimes that involved moving to other cities, sometimes changing jobs. Most often, it meant joining up with the gangs as henchmen.

"What are you planning to do now?" you ask. "With the office trashed, you'll have to find someplace to rent…" He intently avoids your eyes. "Except you don't plan on doing that, either."

"No." A deep breath, and then he turns to look at you. "We all knew staying here was a dead end, but we didn't really have a choice in the matter. Now? Now we have a better option."

"You're going to form a gang." _Damn it, Dad. Don't do this_.

"A gang?" he scoffs. "No. Vigilantes, mercenaries, independent heroes, whatever you want to call it. If we raid the Merchants' drug stashes or the ABB's brothels or the Empire's dog-fighting rings – stuff the Protectorate doesn't think is important enough for them to deal with – we'll all make a lot more money than we are now and clean up the city at the same time."

You frown at that. Joining the Protectorate wasn't something you were itching to do, but it was on the list of options to consider sooner or later. "That's a little harsh, isn't it?"

"If they were doing their jobs, fights like the one today wouldn't happen. Good men wouldn't have to be sent to the hospital. Tony's probably going to lose his arm unless they bring Panacea in. 'Harsh' is me being _generous_ right now."

It is hard to argue that point.

"Some of the guys have already come up with a name for us," he adds with a short laugh. "The Brockton Bay Privateers. We sound like a baseball team more than a bunch of heroes."

"They want to be heroes even though they don't have powers?" On the one hand, that sounds practically suicidal. On the other? You have to give them credit for their courage, if nothing else. "They realize how dangerous it'll be, right?"

"They know, and I tried to convince them otherwise. As Kurt said, though, the gangs aren't all capes, or even mostly capes. There are only a few of them, and they can't be everywhere."

"Except Oni Lee."

He nods. "All right, except Oni Lee. But most of their manpower? That's normal folks. A bunch of us, armed with clubs or guns and sharing everything we see? We'd have the edge over them. If a cape does come in, I'll be there and can take control of them. Imagine the gangs' heavy hitters _stopping_ crime for a change."

Lung, Hookwolf, Purity, a full-powered Mush, and Fenja and Menja, all working together? Oh, you can imagine it. It's _terrifying_.

"But you're right. It isn't like we can fight all of them. Purity, Rune, Stormtiger. None of us can fly."

No way. He wasn't seriously asking…

"I'd tell you I don't want you going out and putting yourself at risk, but you'd call me a hypocrite." Your dad rubs a hand over his balding head. "And you'd be right to. Still, you're fifteen, and if you're going to be a hero, I'd prefer you doing it as part of a team. It just so happens that we have a new team forming that would love a second cape on its roster."

He gets a goofy grin. "Kurt called Lacey in to help with the planning, and she suggested I go by Captain when I'm in costume so it'd continue the pirate theme. If you don't have a name yet, I'm sure she could suggest something. Arsenal or Bombardment or Broadside— Or you could forget I said that one," he adds hurriedly when he sees your unamused glare.

Dismissing his atrocious name suggestions, you shake your head. "Yeah, about that. I've already picked out my name. Call me…"

* * *

 **Not the best place to end a chapter, but for the quest, this was where I put up the vote for what they wanted Taylor's "cape" name to be. They eventually settled on Calamity Witch.**

 **Yes, I'm aware that Danny doesn't sound very Danny-ish here. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing is up to you. Though to be fair, he did take a couple of hours to think about all the things he needs to tell his daughter before she possibly ran away scared that her father's going to Master her like mini-Heartbreaker.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	5. Set Up! 1-5

**Set Up! 1.5**

 **January 31**  
You do your best to ignore the incessant giggles of Madison and her little retinue. This is a trick they've tried before and often: they will keep making noise until you look their way, and then they will point at you as though you were the source of their amusement the entire time. On those rare days when their behavior hasn't made you want to scream, you've wondered just what it is that they get out of mocking you. Are their lives really so boring, so pointless, that they have nothing else to entertain themselves with besides getting a rise out of you? Is being a high school bully the highlight of their day, and as soon as the bell rings to dismiss classes, they descend downwards into a grey, nihilistic abyss? Or is there just something so broken in their heads that they can't experience happiness unless it comes at someone else's expense?

If that were the case, you would almost pity them. _'Almost'_ because your vibrant imagination is currently busy transposing their faces onto the simulation dummies you blasted apart with Flare Shooter.

 _"Projectile imminent from 5 o'clock."_

And this is the reason you have trouble coming up with sympathy no matter what the reasons behind them tormenting you are. Reaching into the instincts that are becoming more and more familiar, you twist your head backwards into a circle, tossing your hair at the same time that the spitball someone – likely Madison – sends a spitball through the space you previously occupied. It strikes Ki-Woo, one of the most obvious ABB members at Winslow, in the back of the head, but when he looks back to see who hit him, you have already returned your eyes to your notes. From the corner of your eye, you look behind to see that Madison is staring at him with wide eyes, a wide straw still conspicuous in her hands.

Serves her right.

By the time the bell announcing the start of the lunch hour rings, several other Asian students are glaring at Madison, and even Mr. Gladly has figured out that something is about to go down. Not that he will step in to prevent it, of course. The World Issues teacher goes out of his way to be seen as the cool teacher, the one all the popular students hang out with when class is over, but just because he's a spineless attention-whore doesn't mean he's an idiot. If the ABB is about to kick off a riot by stabbing one of his favorite students, you would put all the money you still have that he would get as far away from ground zero as he possibly could.

You swing your backpack over your shoulder and hustle out the door with everyone else. They are headed to the cafeteria, but you are looking for somewhere a little less crowded where you can eat your lunch in peace. You'll have to do it quickly, though. Madison is sure to tell Emma and Sophia that you evaded her little prank, and you know from personal experience that dodging one attack will only make the next one wor—

No. No, you won't run and hide. Not again.

You stop in your tracks as you try to figure out where that sudden flash of disgust and determination came from. It doesn't take long to puzzle out. You are a hero now. You made a pledge to drive the gangs out of Brockton Bay, and in return you were given the sheer firepower necessary to transform that pledge into established fact. You even claimed for yourself the ominous-sounding and mildly melodramatic moniker _'Calamity Witch'_ so that just the mere mention of your name will send an instinctive shiver down villains' spines.

And you're going to let yourself be pushed around by a bunch of powerless little _schoolgirls_?

To hell with that!

You wish you could say that you swept into the cafeteria with a flourish, all the guys and even some of the girls turning their heads to follow you as you strut across the floor. That doesn't happen, of course; a few people do look up briefly when you walk through the doors, but they quickly dismiss you and return their attention to their food. Maybe if you ditched the hoodie? Even with it hanging open, it is still bulky and shapeless. But you don't really want all the attention; you just want them to stop thinking you are someone they can walk over.

Claiming an unoccupied table, you pull your brown paper bag out of your backpack and empty it. A sandwich and an apple; nothing spectacular, but as you take the first bite, you think it's the best lunch you've had in a long while. Maybe it's because of the lack of _eau de toilet_.

"What does she think she's doing here?"

"Yeah, doesn't she know this is where people come to eat lunch?"

"Maybe she doesn't realize just how much she smells."

You roll your eyes. And obviously Emma's pet bitches would come over before you've had time to actually eat. Haven't they ever heard of basic courtesy?

It's not like they have anything meaningful to say. You tune them out, your mind instead wandering to the strange dream you had the previous night. You were flying over the archipelago that had served as the backdrop to the training simulations, but now there were small villages scattered about that were burning to the ground. While you surveyed the carnage, people soared up from the ground with, hard as it was to believe, swords and lances and axes. They were wearing the same style of armor the simulation's targets had worn, and you never stopped to ask them what happened or what they were doing there. A green-scaled human dived in close to keep them occupied while you waved your hand and conjured up a swarm of green and orange bullets, and then you smashed a Rust Shooter and a Flare Shooter into all of them. You should have felt disgusted when blood and ruined flesh rained down onto the flames, but you didn't. All you felt at the time was rage and hatred, though the feelings had been strangely muted, as if you were looking a memory from long ago.

Perfect Storm hadn't known what to tell you when you questioned it about the dream, but you have a suspicion you know what the answer is. It had said that the 'template' it installed was named Calamity Witch, and from various hints it dropped, you wonder if there was a real person whose powers yours are based on. Are these _her_ memories? Maybe she had fought gangs in her corner of the globe – perhaps Africa, considering the array of warlords that had carved up the continent into little fiefdoms and the barrenness of the landscape in your dream – and somehow copied herself into Perfect Storm so she could give her powers to someone else who wanted to do the same?

If that were true, it begged the question _'How?!'_ for any number of reasons, but you highly doubt that she would have done this on a whim. Most likely she did it because she was dying or knew she didn't have long to live before the gangs she fought killed her in retaliation. If true, that means that you aren't just the recipient of her gift; you are, for all practical purposes, her _heir_. You owe it to her memory to succeed where she failed.

"Taylor!"

You glance up at your former best friend's irritated shout. Several of the girls around her are staring at you nonplussed; how long were they hurling jabs your way without any reaction? "Sorry, I wasn't paying you any attention. Did you want something?"

She stares at you in disbelief. There are other emotions mixed in that you can just barely spot: the wrinkle of her nose from disgust, the furrow between her eyebrows from anger, the red on her cheeks from embarrassment. If you didn't know better, you'd think that her displeasure is because this is all supposed to be some kind of perverse theater and you're refusing to say your lines.

Then again, maybe that _is_ all this is to her. Her expression certainly lends weight to your earlier musings about the mindset of bullies.

Rather than respond to you directly, she directs her gaze away. Downwards, specifically. "That's a nice necklace, Taylor. Too nice for something _you_ could ever afford. Hey, Julia, didn't you have a necklace that looked like that go missing last week?" She reaches out as though to grab it.

Your fingers wrap around her wrist in an iron grip. Too many of your things Emma has trashed or stolen over the last eighteen months, but your Device? No chance. You would see all these girls in front of you _dead_ before you considered it for even a second.

"I'm really not in the mood to deal with your shit today, Emma," you tell her in a soft voice, an ugly smile sliding onto your face. "Go away."

"You don't get to tell me what—"

Her voice cuts off when you squeeze, digging your fingertips between the bones of her forearms. She has Sophia to thank for how you know how to do this, which is an irony that makes your smile grow. "You know, I've been wondering something. As soon as we started here, you made it your life's goal to bully me. Why?"

She yanks her hand out of your grasp. "Because there are some people who don't deserve even being alive. They're wastes who drag everyone around them down into worthlessness just by being there." She scoffs as her own words leave a foul taste in her mouth. "That's what you are. Even the Merchants would be too disgusted by you to let you join them."

Your teeth peek out from your grin just a little. She's right, in a way; once you start wiping the Merchants out, just like you're going to do to the Empire and the ABB, they probably wouldn't let you join up. "You should have let me know you thought that earlier. If I had known, I wouldn't have wasted all that time being your friend."

"You wasted _your_ time?" Emma flips her red hair behind her in a strange echo of what you did in Gladly's class. "You wouldn't have had any friends at all if I hadn't let you hang on to me all the time. _I_ was the one whose time was wasted."

"You're the one going out of her way to do things to me. How much time did you spend on the locker?"

"Clearly not enough if you still think you're welcome here."

"If you want to think that, fine," you say with a shrug. This was all just more petty bullshit. Why had you ever thought this important? "Consider your 'lesson' delivered. Bye-bye."

The last bite of sandwich disappears into your mouth, and you grab the apple with one hand and your backpack with the other. Emma and her posse have pushed up right next to your table to hem you in and make themselves look more threatening, and because of that, you barely have room to stand up without bumping into them. Too bad for Emma that you really don't give a shit anymore. An unexpected shove with your shoulder sends her backwards, and with your right foot slipped between her own on the sly, she topples to the linoleum floor. Sophia takes a step forward, her fists clenched, but then she stops and sneers at you, cruel triumph apparent in her gaze.

The crunch of the apple is all you hear when you walk out the front doors of the school. That was a mistake, you know; Emma is sure to run to the principal and complain that you shoved her for no reason, and she'll have a gaggle of witnesses who will repeat her story. By the end of school today, tomorrow for sure, you'll probably have a week-long suspension waiting for you, and that is just more time for the Trio to come up with some fresh retaliation.

 _"Why did you not defeat them?"_ Perfect Storm asks, the first word it has said since you arrived this morning. You really did not want to let the world know that you have a piece of self-aware Tinkertech in your possession.

"Because if I had started a fight, I might have won, but then that would just play up to the story they're going to tell the principal. It's going to be bad enough as it is already."

Your Device chimes in apparent agreement. _"Do not fight enemies on their terms. Bring them to a battlefield of your choosing."_

"I wish I could do that." With a sad smile, you pat the jewel. "Unfortunately, this place doesn't work like that. They're only going to cause problems here, where they know they can do whatever they want and not get punished for it."

 _"Why do you stay?"_

"Why do I—? Storm, I can't just not go to school! I have to go if I want to graduate." Though with the Trio stealing or destroying your homework, it isn't like your grades are anything approaching good right now, anyway. You were barely passing when school let out for Christmas, and come May, you'd be surprised if you don't have to repeat sophomore year.

 _"Can Mistress not learn on your own?"_

A moment to figure out what it's asking, and you shake your head. "I can get a GED, but I still need to know the information, and all textbooks for my classes? Those are expensive—"

 _"Accessing local electromagnetic communication network,"_ Perfect Storm interrupts. _"Accessing accounting documents and personnel-specific documents. Fifty-eight documents named. Accessing global communication network."_ You stare at the jewel in shock, now starting to understand just what the term 'Intelligent Device' really means. _"Digital copies found. Would you like me to start download, Mistress?"_

"Can you find Arcadia's book list, too?" you can't help but ask.

 _"Searching…. Accessing Arcadia High School communication network. Accessing general listing."_ Seriously, it just hacked through Arcadia's firewalls that quickly? _"120 additional documents found. Digital copies available for all 178 documents."_

You wrestle with your decision for several seconds, which is far less than you know you should need. "You know what? Do it." You don't know all the requirements you would need to meet to qualify for homeschooling, but it probably isn't that hard, and you've heard that sixteen-year-olds can take the test for their GED. Of course, that means getting your dad's permission, which requires telling him about all this….

Then again, it isn't like he wouldn't figure it out all on his own, anyway. You suspect that he's going to pay a lot more attention to you now that everything about you and Perfect Storm and him is out in the open. Ironic, isn't it, that it's the pair of you taking on secret identities that's finally drawing you closer together?

Your smile this time is wide and genuine. Zipping your coat up, you walk through the gates and away from Winslow for the last time. Your entire afternoon has just opened up for the foreseeable future, and there are all sorts of interesting things you can do with your free time.

* * *

 **Don't get mad at me! It was either pull Taylor out of school or have her eventually go Carrie on the whole damn place. As you can imagine, Calamity Witch could do a** _ **hell**_ **of a lot of damage to a bunch of unsuspecting civilians.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	6. Set Up! 1-6

**Set Up! 1.6**

The Dockworkers Association office really does look awful from your vantage point floating overhead. The entire front of the building has collapsed, and while the dockworkers have cleared out enough of the rubble to rescue everyone who had been trapped inside and to slip inside for any personal belongings, it still looks like a tornado blew through it. In hindsight, it's a good thing your dad got powers; if he hadn't, this very well might be the end of the DWA.

You're not here to admire the scenery, though. You let go of your flight power and plummet like a stone, the ground racing up to greet you. Kicking it back on at the last possible second, you twist in midair and land lightly on your toes. A wide grin appears; that never gets old.

Your aerial acrobatics have caught the attention of several of the dockworkers hauling around debris outside, and two of them are now walking towards you. They are both carrying heavy scowls, which is a good thing as well as a bad thing. It's good because that means that your dad did not tell everyone about your real identity; most of the men would not be willing to take orders from a fifteen-year-old girl, even though you are a cape, and those who would wouldn't want to bring you along when they go after the gangs. It's bad because they probably think you're here to cause trouble.

Thankfully, that's an easy misconception to fix. "Hey, boys!" you call out to the pair, a sneaky idea making you try something. From looking at your body and your costume in the bathroom mirror, you know that while you still look like you, you're different enough that most people probably would not recognize you, but maybe if you act differently, too, it will throw them off even more. You just need to make sure no one will call you out on your act. You throw on the best coquettish smile you can, swing your staff around in a slow circle before laying it across your shoulders, and lean backwards nonchalantly. "I was wondering if you can give me a little help."

The younger of the men, maybe in his mid-twenties, nods, but the older man continues frowning at you. "Depends on what kind of help you want."

"This older guy found me yesterday and said you guys could use someone with my particular _skills_. Called himself Captain." A spark of realization lights in their eyes. "Any idea where I can find him?"

The second man jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the three trailers set up in the parking lot. "He's in the middle one. Knock and wait to be told you can enter. You won't like it if you just barge in."

"I'll keep it in mind." You hesitate for a moment, gathering the necessary courage, and then you strut between them, throwing a wink at the younger man as you pass. "Later, handsome."

From the corner of your own eye, you can see him staring at you before his gaze drops a little lower. It lingers there only a moment or two, and then the older man slaps him hard on the shoulder and breaks the moment.

Pink stains your cheeks even as a giddy little smile lifts the corners of your mouth. You can't believe that worked! That isn't something you _ever_ would have done before finding Perfect Storm and getting powers, but then again, before all this you didn't have a body you would expect to find alongside Emma's in fashion magazines. Add in the self-confidence you had thought lost forever after your mom's accident and Emma's betrayal and this sassy streak you never knew you had, and suddenly you're having more fun just living life than you can remember or even believed possible!  
[color=transparent]Status (update parameter (personality)): 63%[/color]  
Knocking a little rhythm on the door of the trailer, you don't wait for a response before you walk in. You don't know what you're expecting, maybe your dad doing paperwork or making calls, but it certainly is not the sight that greets you. He stares at you in embarrassment, and you tilt your head and look him up and down. "You never told me you were part of the Ren Faire scene."

"Who the hell are you?" demands the woman standing next to the far wall of the trailer, a heavy blue coat with brass buttons hanging from a second-hand mannequin nearby. She is a giant of a woman, taller than your or your dad and nearly twice as wide at the shoulder as him. People would probably mistake her for one of the dockworkers if it were not for the hair hanging down to her waist and the fact that she is incredibly top-heavy. As much as you regret your own flat chest, you would not consider trading busts with her.

Your dad sighs and asks you, "You remember Lacey, don't you? Kurt's wife?" You nod. "Lacey, I know it's been a couple of years since you saw her, but that's Taylor."

"Taylor? Really?" He nods, and Lacey looks at you with new eyes. "Holy hell, girl, how old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"Woulda pegged you for eighteen in that getup. _Maybe_ seventeen, but that's pushing it. And you let her wear that?"

"It wasn't exactly my choice," answers your dad in a sardonic voice. "Annette always warned me you have to pick your battles with teenage girls, and that goes double when they can shoot you with lasers."

Lacey looks at you in shock and maybe a little bit of nervousness. Trying to lighten the mood, you grin and ask, "So does that mean I can stay out later than nine on school nights now?"

"Don't count on it. That's a battle I'm still willing to fight." You and Lacey both laugh. "And speaking of school, why aren't you in class?"

Your smile fades. "You might want to sit down for this one."

"Oh, great."

He walks deeper into the trailer and sits down in a chair at the far end. Now that you're looking, you can see a thick line of bright yellow paint stretching across the floor, and poking your head out the window shows that a circle of the same color goes around that end of the trailer. "You figured out your range?"

"Sixteen feet. Come inside that, and you're close enough that I'll take control of you whether I want to or not." The faint tension in his shoulders fades as, presumably, he lets go of the rein he has been holding on his powers so Lacey could dress him up in the thick black pants, heavy boots, and puffy white shirt he is currently sporting. "I'm sitting down. Why aren't you in school?"

"I dropped out."

"What?!"

You hold up your hands when he jumps to his feet, Perfect Storm's staff form hanging obediently in the air next to you. Lacey can't seem to decide if she should stare at him, you, or it. "I just couldn't stand dealing with the bullies anymore. If they kept messing with me, I don't know that I wouldn't smash a Flare Shooter in Emma's face, and going Carrie on a high school wouldn't be a very good reputation for a new hero, now would it?"

"Emma? Your best friend Emma?"

"My _ex_ –best friend Emma who spent the last year and a half making my life a living hell." He stares at you in confusion and disappointment, to which you shrug helplessly. "You had enough to deal with with finding jobs for the dockworkers and paying the bills you tried to keep me from seeing. I didn't want to burden you any further."

Your dad blushes at the mention of the bills, but he rallies quickly. "Burden? Taylor, I'm your father; if you can't handle something on your own, you're _supposed_ to share it with me so I can help you."

 _You could barely keep yourself afloat, let alone me, too_ , you think but carefully do not say. The two of you decided last night that you are going to do your best to fix your strained relationship, and reminding him of that, no matter how true it is, would not help you in that goal. "It doesn't really matter now, though, does it? I'm done with Winslow."

"You still need to get an education—"

"Already taken care of." You give the dark red gem of your staff an affectionate pat, and Perfect Storm chimes in appreciation. "As soon as I left school, I asked Storm to research what I need to know about qualifying for homeschooling and getting my G.E.D. From what he found out, it's not that hard to do. We can talk about it when we get home if you want."

He nods and stands so he can walk back over to you and Lacey. "Let's do that. So why are you here?" His eyebrows wrinkle together, and he admits in a strained voice, "If you were hoping for a fight, Alexander and some of the other guys are heading out to follow up on some rumors that the Merchants have set up shop near here. They… probably wouldn't mind if you wanted to tag along…."

You can tell that he desperately wants you to pass on getting in a fight this soon, so you happily oblige him. "As fun as that sounds, I actually thought I could handle something else. I know you aren't happy with them, but I figured I could head over to the Rig and register us as a legitimate hero team."

"That's what I meant to do today," he mutters. "I was going to ask Margaret to call the PRT, but then Lacey showed up and…. Anyway, that doesn't matter. If you want to take care of that, sure. Meet us back here when you're done, and we can all go over it as a group."

"I'll get right on it."

"Ah ah ah!" Lacey said. "Taylor, I need to you back me up on something before you go. Something's missing from this costume, and Danny refuses to admit that I'm right about it."

You smile, both at her obvious desire to make you play dress-up – an activity you disliked even when you were a little kid and something she had suggested innumerable times when she and Kurt visited the house – and at the disgruntled roll of your dad's eyes. Still, a good costume could make or break a hero. You were glad Perfect Storm came with a costume already built in. "Let me see the full thing?"

He slips a bandana with eye holes already cut into it over his head and pulls on the blue coat, then looks at you with a pleading expression. Glancing over the costume pieces still available, you spot one that is just too perfect to pass up. "We didn't pick the same theme for our names," you tell him while picking it up. "We didn't design our costumes to look similar or even share the same color scheme. But we _can_ match in the ridiculousness of our hats." You drop the tricorne onto his head and give Lacey a satisfied nod. "There. Now it's perfect."

He just sighs in resignation, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Soaring over the calm waters of the bay, you do your best to tamp down your enthusiasm to socially acceptable levels so you don't embarrass yourself when you reach the Rig. The headquarters for the Brockton Bay Protectorate, it is said to possess an impenetrable forcefield, hundreds of anti-aircraft missiles, and whatever other defenses a renowned Tinker like Armsmaster can cook up, but nothing springs up or out to harass you when you come cruising in for a landing on the helipad. Well, nothing until the two PRT agents sitting next to the door spring to their feet and grabbing a couple of water-gun-things that are connected to the building by long hoses.

"Identify yourself!"

You send them what you intend to be a disarming smile, but neither agent seems to notice. "My name is Calamity Witch, and—"

"Get on the ground!"

"For what?!" you demand in shock. One of them points his weapon at you, so you hastily continue, "I just want to pick up some paperwork!"

 _That_ throws them for a loop. "…Paperwork?" the less trigger-happy one asks.

"Yes! I need the forms to register an independent hero team!"

"…You're a hero?"

You really have nothing to say to that, but thankfully that seemed to be a rhetorical question. The more vocal of the pair reaches up to the handset strapped to his shoulder and whispers into it, the words too quiet for you to make out. A few more exchanges occur before he lets his hand drop and stands there watching you.

One minute passes in awkward silence, then two. You are seriously considering just taking off and letting your dad know that he needs to call the Protectorate and have them mail the forms to you when the door in front of you slides open.

"And now the confusion makes sense," the woman says as she steps onto the platform. The stiff winds send the ends of her scarf, the fabric styled as an American flag, whipping behind her. "You're Calamity Witch, then?"

"Y-Yes." Miss Militia. You're talking to Miss Militia! She was never one of your absolute favorite heroes, not like Alexandria or Armsmaster or Legend, but you know your dad, alongside a large chunk of the dockworkers, has always been more fond of her than any other member of the local Protectorate. "It's a pleasure to meet you!" Stepping forward to shake her offered hand, you stumble to a halt when the PRT agent holding the spray-gun – almost certainly containment foam, you finally realize – lifts the barrel in your direction. Looking at the elder heroine and animatedly rolling your eyes, you try to drop into a curtsey.

Well, _'try'_ is the wrong word. You do manage something, your left leg bending forward while your right slides leftward in front of it until you're a third of the way to the tarmac. You pop back up, doing your best not to reveal just how surprised you are by yet another strange motion Perfect Storm loaded into your head along with your powers.

Miss Militia blinks rapidly at the gesture before shaking her head. "Agent Simmons, I do believe you can put that away. In fact, I insist; the last thing we want is to start a fight over nothing. If you'll follow me, Calamity Witch, I think one of the conference rooms would be far more comfortable than out here."

"Calamity's fine," you tell her after you enter the building. You do like the sound of your cape name, the implicit threat lurking beneath it, but coming from a future ally, it is a bit of a mouthful.

She nods genially and opens a door to reveal a room with a small table and some chairs, all made from a dark red wood. "Coffee?" she asks, pouring a cup from a carafe in the corner and adding some sugar to it.

"No, thank you."

"If you're sure. Sometimes it's the only way I can make it through the day." Pulling out a chair, she sits down and waits for you to do the same, then unwraps a straw and drops it into the cup. "So, Calamity, you're here to register your team as independent heroes, is that right?" You just nod, and her eyes crinkle with good humor. "That's always an exciting time. I have to admit that I'm surprised, though; by the time most independents decide to join a team instead of going it alone, we've at least heard of them. I'm afraid I don't think I've ever heard your name come up before."

"Oh, you wouldn't have," you tell her with a laugh. "I got my powers only a few days ago."

Miss Militia gives you a quick double-blink. "A… a few days?" You nod. "And you've already found a team? That's quick work." She slips the straw through a gap in her scarf and takes a sip. "If you don't mind my asking, what made you decide not to join the Protectorate?"

Join the Protectorate? Did she mean to say the Wards—

You fight not to display the grin that wants to break through. It looks like Lacey isn't the only one who thinks you look older than you really are. "I thought about it, but… it just seems a little too… rigid for me." There, that is better than telling her that it is because your dad thinks they don't do enough to clear out the gangs that have entrenched themselves in Brockton Bay. "When Captain offered me a spot on his team, that was one of the things we discussed. When I'm not playing the part of their flying artillery, I get to be flying artillery on my own terms."

She laughs at the joke, weak though it may be. "Captain. I must be really behind the times if I don't know either of you two. What's your group's name?"

"The Privateers. And you wouldn't know him, either," you comfort her. "He got his powers recently, too."

The hero's eyebrows furrow briefly. "So you all found each other shortly after your triggers, then? How many people are in your group? Three, four?"

You glance upwards, trying to remember how many of the dockworkers your dad said were probably going to join the new business. "Thirty-five or so?"

"Thirty-five." You nod, surprised at her surprise. "That's…. Wow." She takes another sip of her drink. "I didn't know we had that many parahumans move into the city recently."

No wonder she looks shocked, you realize. Thirty-five capes? You wish! That would be more than all the villains in Brockton Bay put together. You can't help the laughter that bubbles up. "As nice as it would be to have that many capes, that's not what I meant. Captain and I are the only parahumans on the team. The rest are regular guys who are just tired of the gangs walking all over them."

Miss Militia goes still for a long moment. "Your team is a mix of parahumans and normal humans. That… could pose a problem."

"What? Why?"

"Because hero teams are registered with the Protectorate, not the PRT." Seeing your expression of confusion, she explains, "Entry into Protectorate is limited by law to parahumans, just as membership in the PRT proper is only for unpowered individuals. If a hero team is mixed like yours is, it legally cannot be registered."

"We can't register just because we want to work together?!" you demand.

"I'm afraid so. Technically, you and Captain could register as a team of just the two of you, or you could register independently. But the rest of the Privateers?" She shakes her head. "The PRT does not like civilians, who almost universally do not possess the training necessary to safely contain villains, interfering in cape fights. They place themselves in danger unnecessarily and make the PRT's, and our, jobs more difficult because we have to protect them as well as fight the villains." Leaning back in her chair, Miss Militia continues in a gentle voice, "Affiliating yourself with the Protectorate, even if it only registering with us, gives you a license for what is essentially state-sponsored vigilanteism. Your team would not have the same legal protections. Theoretically, they could be arrested for assault and battery any time they got in a fight with one of the gangs, though whether the D.A. would bother charging them is another matter entirely."

"What are you saying? That they don't have the right to fight against the gangs just because they don't have powers?!" Righteous indignation flows hot in your veins. If it weren't for Perfect Storm, _you_ would not have any powers. The thought that your Device, not your desire to help or the simple need to defend your home, is the only reason you would be allowed to stop the gangs rankles.

The experienced heroine finally breaks the pregnant pause. "What I am saying is that you, along with the rest of the Privateers, need to be careful. Knowing that it was your actions that led to your teammates' deaths is one of the worst feelings in the world, and I don't want anyone to have to deal with that pain."

"We're _already_ dying," you snap in response. "The only question is whether we fight and risk dying faster or lie back and let the gangs strangle us in our sleep."

The tick of the clock sounds loud in the quiet that follows your declaration. "Can I just get that paperwork? I need to get back to my team."

She nods and reaches out to pick up a slim manila folder that rests farther down the table. Flipping through the pages, she pulls out a few sheets. "Independent hero forms for both you and Captain, and a team registration form if you decide to go that route instead of signing up individually. They can be delivered here or to the PRT office downtown. I recommend you deliver them personally or through a courier you can trust; forms that were mailed to us have occasionally gone _missing_."

Folding the papers in half, you let Miss Militia lead you down the hall to the helipad. Just in front of the door, she stops and pulls a card from one of her fatigues' many pockets. "For what it's worth, Calamity, I really do hope things turn out well, for you and the Privateers. If you ever find yourself in over your head, though, I want you to call me. Us heroines need to look out for each other."

You nod and walk out the door. The two agents are still there, both staring rigidly at the city. You glance in that direction before stumbling to a halt. A large cloud of dust is drifting over the northern part of the city. Over the Docks.

You run to the edge of the platform and jump off. The wind whips past you as you fly over the bay, and the papers flutter noisily. You can't keep these in your hands during the fight; you will just drop them, or they could be damaged by whatever fight is going on out there. Spotting the flat rooftop of a building sitting just off the shoreline, you drop down and transform as soon as your feet hit the concrete so you can stuff the documents into the inside pocket of your coat, and then you immediately redeploy your Barrier Jacket. You rocket through the sky as fast as your powers, your magic, _whatever_ can carry you.

It does not take long to reach the source of the disturbance. The hideous lovechild of a tank and a train engine rolls through the ruins of a building on gigantic treads, and the machine guns mounted on the mechanical monstrosity swivel and turn to keep firing at the group of men dressed in casual clothes and black ski masks, baseball bats and crowbars and even a couple of shotguns cradled in their hands. Squealer, for that is almost certainly who is driving the ugly vehicle, is spraying the place with bullets, but she can't seem to hit anyone. The gang fighting her is too skilled, too in tune with each other to be caught. Some of them are even avoiding blasts that there is no way they can see.

A terrible idea forming, you look at the second group again. They are moving with perfect coordination, inhumanly so. _Parahumanly_ so.

You bleed off your speed in a forward somersault and slam your boots into a rooftop; when your hat almost rolls off your head from the sudden change in speed, you grab the brim and pull it securely back into place. The guns turn to point at you, and a couple of the Privateers look up at you, too. Everyone acts like they expect something now that you're here, something more than just kicking Squealer's ass.

Oh, right. Banter. That's what everybody's waiting for. How do you do that?

"You know," you finally get out, "It's a bad idea to start shooting up my team. That sort of thing makes me… unhappy."

There, that should do it, especially with that deliberate little pause at the end. Your opponent, at least, seems to think so; the treads on one side of the train spin backwards to aim the giant cannon installed in the front directly at you. You got her attention, all right.

Now you just to figure out how to get you and the rest of your team out of here.

* * *

 **…Holy crap, Miss Militia became way more devious than I intended her to be. Even looking back on it months later, I'm still shocked.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	7. Set Up! 1-7

**Jack Inqu:** The deviousness comes from the way Miss Militia came across as so helpful and understanding at the same time she was pumping Taylor for all the info she could get about the Privateers.

 **Sorry I didn't respond to anyone else. For whatever reason, FFN is messing up again and won't let me see any reviews after Jack's. If you asked a big question or made a response-worthy comment, expect a PM in a couple of days.**

* * *

 **Set Up! 1.7**

That… is a very big gun. A very big gun that is currently pointed straight at you.

You jump out of the way of the enormous shell that flies from it, rolling in air before you hit the roof next to the one you were standing on, and not a moment too soon. The tank shell crashes into that building and turns it from an abandoned store to a pile of rubble. "Flare Shooter!" you command, seven fireballs forming in front of you and flying into the base of the cannon. The armor is going to be a problem, but right now, the greatest danger comes from all those guns, and the big one in particular.

The Flare Shots hit the base of the cannon, but other than making the metal glow briefly, they are completely ineffective. Right, Perfect Storm told you during the simulation that Flare Shooter could be blocked by armor. It's a good thing you have a spell for that, and as the train-tank turns to aim that gigantic gun at you again, you create a bright green sphere of magic in front of you. Time to try this again. "Rust Shooter!"

This time, your aim is true, and the Rust Shot flies right down the barrel of the cannon. You don't know exactly what happens next – whether it damaged the oncoming shell or it messed up the barrel or what – but a moment later, the entire front of the vehicle explodes. Shards of metal fly in every direction, the dockworkers-turned-heroes dive behind cover as one, and you yourself drop down to avoid the sudden shrapnel. You peek up to see the foremost innards of the machine exposed to the world, and your new teammates stare up at you incredulously.

If anyone ever asks, you totally meant to do that.

But now isn't the time to sit back and bask in their attention. You take to the sky once more, another Rust Shot taking shape and firing. This time it is a rotating machine gun that looks like it was ripped off a fighter jet that takes the brunt of your attack, and you smile when the crude welding holding it attached to the train crumbles. That's two down; sixteen or so left to go.

The guns on the train's left side swivel in your direction, and you most certainly do not let out a panicked yelp when they all start firing as one. Up, left, diagonal, right, down, right; you do your best to dodge the sudden onslaught of hot lead. Spinning left instead of up, you scream when the bullets from three different guns smash into you. You crash through the wall of the building and stare up as the bullets keep punching holes in the ceiling. Is this how you're going to die? Murdered by Squealer of all people, your insides shredded—

Okay, dying should _really_ hurt more than this.

Fearful of what you're going to find, you raise your head and stare in amazement. The skin of your belly is red – you know you're going to have a nasty bruise there in a tomorrow – and there are three or four spots that are oozing a little blood. But that's it. No rent flesh, no organs falling out, no being cut in half. A piece of metal glints at you, and from between your skirt and belt you pull a bullet as big around as your index finger, the point flattened out as though it had hit a metal wall instead of bare skin. You thought your powers let you fly and shoot lasers; when did you become a Brute?!

 _"Barrier Jacket is intact,"_ Perfect Storm tells you. _"I can continue the fight."_

"Barrier Jacket," you echo. Your Device has said that phrase a couple of times, but you just assumed that it meant your costume. Clearly not. "How…. There's nothing there. How am I not even hurt?"

 _"Barrier Jacket is a full-body defensive forcefield. Aesthetics are irrelevant."_

So it doesn't matter what it looks like? It will still protect you the same, regardless if it's a full suit of armor or the skimpiest bikini imaginable? You stare at the dark red gem of your staff, starting to wonder about its claims of magic— No, this is Tinkertech, after all. Tinkers are famous for the absolute bullshit they're capable of. What matters is that you can walk through a hailstorm of bullets and survive, for that is exactly what you're facing right now.

You stand and float through the hole you made, pinning Squealer's abomination with your glare. "Let's break this bitch."

 _"Aye aye, Mistress!"_

"Rust Shooter!"

You zoom over the battlefield, keeping the villain's attention on you and off the unpowered humans on your team. You have to slow down to make sure you hit the guns, but so long as you start moving again as soon as you fire, the guns barely have any time to move before you're somewhere else. "You've got to quicker than that!" you crow when the remaining guns fire at a point twenty feet to your left. "Rust Shooter! I'm not even moving that fast! If you want my advice – _Rust Shooter!_ – you should probably lay off all the drugs! Didn't you pay attention to those – Rust Shooter! – talks at school?! That stuff will melt your brain!" One of your shots misses its mark, but considering it instead clips the left-hand tread and takes off a chunk of one of the plates, you'll consider it good. You drop a couple of feet to evade the spray of one gun and send yet another bullet to snap it off the vehicle. "Kind of like I'm doing to your tank right now!"

The train abruptly lurches backwards, and then it spins around on its tracks. A few sulfurous curses come from deep in the rear before it is sprinting at an impressive speed away from you. You just stare at the machine for a second before a snarl slips out your mouth. Does Squealer really think that's it? That she can slink back to her lair with her tail between her legs? Not a chance!

You chase after her, your greater speed ruining her best efforts at escape. She's not getting away, not this time. You head to one side and fire a Rust Shooter at the train's treads, which instead hits the ground and flings chips of shattered asphalt everywhere, and then a second. This one shreds the armor above the wheels, but that is not enough to stop the machine. Those moments are enough for her to start increasing the distance between you two, and you push your flight as far as you can.

This dilemma is not one you like. You can't properly aim while flying like this, but as soon as you slow down, she starts getting away from you. The guns may be mostly gone, but it won't matter if she escapes. She might be a brain-damaged failure, but you refuse to let her best you, doubly so if it means she might come up with some other machine that has a better chance of fighting you in the air. Chasing around a plane is not your idea of a good time.

Your eyes flick over the contraption before you realize the obvious solution. You dive-bomb the train and land on its roof just in front of where you believe the cab is. Now you can fire on it to your heart's content.

A single Rust Shooter reveals a dark compartment, but you have to jerk your head out of the way before Squealer starts shooting through the hole you made. Of course she has a gun on her! You could probably withstand being shot a couple of times, but even knowing that you have your own personal forcefield like Glory Girl, you _really_ don't want to try blocking a bullet with your face. "Got any bright ideas, Storm?"

 _"Flare Shooter is designed for defeating infantry units."_

"And that would be great if I knew the blast was going to hit her, but it doesn't do much when I can't see her."

 _"Shooting spells are simple. They can be adjusted based on the situation."_

Adjusted? You conjure a single fireball, but instead of shooting it, you give it a mental poke. Nope, not changing.

 _"Redistributing spell processing."_

The back of your head suddenly feels like it is being stretched, and you can almost imagine that lines of code are racing through your mind. After a moment, they slow down enough that you can catch one command in five, then one in three. Then every single one.

Your eyes grow wide. _This_ is Flare Shooter?! The spell has been broken down into a hundred lines of code; it looks like the the practice web site you created in Mrs. Knott's class. If you needed any proof that this Device really was a Tinker's magnum opus, this is it: a computer program that lets you pelt people with explosive fireballs.

Bullets from one of the remaining machine guns slam into you and threaten to send you tumbling off the train, a reminder that you have something else you need to focus on. 'Scrolling' to the top of the script, you find a list of different variables. Most of them make little to no sense to you right now, but others….

Redefining a couple of variables, you smile when you see that the orange sphere in your hand is now quite literally on fire. Ten more of the same appear in the air, and with a thought, all of them zip through the hole. There is no thump of detonation, just a sullen glow, and Squealer starts screaming in fright and pain. With a sharp smile, you send more and more of them at her.

A hatch on one side of the train that you never noticed is thrown open to belch out black smoke, and Squealer dives out of the cabin, her greasy hair and fuzzy jacket both brightly burning. The train begins to slow now that its conductor is no longer around, so you hop into the sky and let it crash to a stop against the warehouse in its path. The villain has managed to rip her coat off, but the too-small pink tee-shirt that is revealed is a perfect target. A handful of Flare Shots slam into her. These were all programed to be purely concussive bullets, and the Merchants' second-in-command is thrown forward on the blast wave and slams her head into a nearby brick wall.

 _"Congratulations on your first victory."_

"Thanks, Storm." You drift down to check on the woman who has not moved since she fell to the ground. Sure enough, she is out cold. "Can you call the—"

"Freeze!" You slowly turn your head to look over your shoulder to see a blur resolve into a man wearing a red bodysuit, black racing stripes just barely visible running down the sides of his costume and crossing his chest to form a 'V'. Velocity, another member of the Protectorate's Brockton Bay branch. "Put your hands on your head and back away from her."

You roll your eyes. This is going to be an ongoing issue, isn't it? "This is Squealer. I'm a new hero; I go by Calamity Witch. I saw her causing problems and stopped her."

"Why don't I believe you?"

Resting Perfect Storm across your shoulders, you shoot him an unamused glare. "Will you believe Miss Militia? Give her a call. I was at the Rig not ten minutes ago getting the paperwork to register as an independent hero."

He eyes you warily for a moment, but eventually he taps one hand against his ear. "Console, connect me to Militia's coms." Velocity waits a few moments, his fingers tapping impatiently on his thigh. "Miss Militia, Velocity here. I've got a girl here claiming to be a hero, but she sure doesn't look like it. She said you'd vouch for her."

"Tell her _'Hi'_ for me," you order in a snarky voice.

He ignores you, which is probably for the best, all things considered. "Calamity Witch, she said. Uh-huh. Uh-huh." The hero frowns and gives you another look. "…Uh-huh. Okay. Yes, but— But she—!" A sigh comes from him. "Okay. Okay, okay, okay! Be right there. Velocity out."

"So? Still think I'm a dastardly villain?"

The red-clad hero takes a quick breath. "No, I don't. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you were a villain, but you have to know what your costume looks like."

You know well what you look like in your Barrier Jacket, but it has been growing on you, and after this fight? There's no way you're going to give it up. That said, he does seem like he is honestly embarrassed about nearly picking a fight with a fellow hero. Or maybe he just dreads being chewed out by Miss Militia for the same; that would be believable, too. "Looking warm and cuddly doesn't do a whit to help me stop criminals," you answer. Glancing down at Squealer's body, you wince a little at the blisters you can already see forming on her now mostly-bald scalp and on her arms. Maybe modifying Flare Shooter into gouts of flame and sending them into an enclosed space wasn't the brightest idea you've ever had. "Anyway, she's wrapped up and ready to go. I have other places to be."

"I need your statement before you leave! Where you found her, what you did during your fight, if anybody else was injured, that sort of thing."

You turn around and start floating away, headed back to where the Privateers are. "Follow the trail of destruction. Hit her until she stopped moving. That's what I'm going to find out." He is obviously displeased at the dismissive answers, but you have better things to worry about. Pushing your flight as hard as you safely can while so close to the ground, it takes you less than a minute to cover the distance between the wreck and what you can only assume is the Merchant base the Privateers were raiding.

The dockworkers have already mostly packed up by the time you get there. Four trucks are parked nearby, all with different cargo. One has its bed filled with black garbage bags, dollar bills visible through the openings; another with as many men as can be packed inside. The third has a mix of men and bags of money. It is the fourth truck that makes you turn away: there is only one thing there, covered by a white sheet that is being held down by rocks, but from the general shape, you just know that it is a body.

It has only been one day since the Privateers were formed, and already someone has lost his life.

"Calamity Witch," one masked man says as you drift closer. You recognize his voice; well, his voice and the impressive collection of tattoos on his arms and neck. "Captain told us about you before we left. Can't tell you how glad we were to see you show up. Squealer was not playing around."

"I just wish I had gotten here sooner," you reply, your eyes turning toward the fourth truck. "Who was…?"

Thankfully, Alexander understands what you are asking. "Fat Bill. He was trying to chain the door closed to trap Squealer inside, but the guns… they punched clear through it like it was made of paper."

"And the injured? How many?"

"Too many for the first day," he sighs. Shaking his head, he pulls a ring of keys out of his pocket. "We'll be talking about that tonight, I'm sure of that. You want a ride?"

"No, I think I'll meet you there. Maybe a fly will give me time to clear my head."

He nods in understanding, and you do the same before shooting high in the sky. A frown sits heavily on your face. When you and your dad had discussed his plans for the Privateers, neither of you had mentioned the very real possibility that someone could die. Now that is coming back to bite you.

Perfect Storm seems to know where your thoughts are headed, which, considering it communicates with you via telepathy, is very likely true. _"Casualties are expected in war. Mourn. Accept. Grow stronger."_

"Easy for you to say," you bite out. "I should have gone with them. Dad needs to stay away from the fights so he can empower any backup teams, but I could have been here from the beginning. If I had, maybe Bill wouldn't have died."

 _"Additional mages needed?"_

"Mages, capes, whatever." You are too tired to argue with your Device about terminology right now, and your hands are starting to shake. All the adrenaline still rushing through your veins, or maybe the fear you didn't have time to feel during the fight? You look at the gemstone as an idea sprouts into existence. "Storm, can you give other people powers like you did for me?"

 _"No,"_ the Device replied, that single word extinguishing your previous enthusiasm, _"I am yours."_ A slight hum came from the head of the staff, almost as though it were reconsidering. _"If new subject possesses a Linker Core, it is possible to construct a Device for them. Installation of specific template could then occur._

 _"If Mistress requires assistance immediately, a Guardian Beast could be constructed."_

You blink in confusion. "A Guardian Beast?"

 _"An animal that is modified genetically and magically to bind it to its mage and give it the capacity to cast spells. Multiple Guardian Beast templates are available for perusal."_

"I _did_ want a pet when I was little," you murmur. "Dad always refused to have an animal in the house, but if it had powers, too, maybe he wouldn't make too much of a fuss about it. What kind of animals can be turned into this Guardian Beast thing?"

 _"Any animal Mistress desires."_

You stare out at the city, your thoughts chasing one another in an endless circle. On the one hand, if you make a Guardian Beast now and show up with it to the meeting, your dad will have to let you keep it. Once you explain why you did it, you doubt he will have any problems with your actions other than being a little miffed that you presented him with a _fait accompli_. On the other hand, that meeting Alexander told you about will undoubtedly take place sooner rather than later, so you have only a few minutes to find an animal to transform before you need to head back to the office. But if you're willing to wait until after the meeting to do this, you might as well ask Perfect Storm to explain all the little details and come up with the template that will best fit you specifically.

Decisions, decisions.

* * *

 **I'd say that's the last time I let the players decide what Taylor did in a fight, but I'd be lying.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	8. Set Up! 1-8

**Set Up! 1.8**

You land in front of the Dockworkers Association office, the ruined façade not distracting at all from the exhilaration that has replaced your earlier fatigue. If there is one thing you would never, ever give up about your powers, it is the freedom of flight. That is doubly true after spending the last hour sorting through the spell's code. Perfect Storm claimed that with practice, you'll even be able to fly entirely on your own, but you have your doubts about that. For all its claims that you are on your way to becoming a great mage, you know that in the end, all your heroic deeds will be due to Perfect Storm loaning you these abilities.

Deep down, though, you can't help but wish its confident predictions could come true.

Your dad's trailer is the only one with its lights still on, so you walk up the stairs and through the door. He is sitting in his chair at the center of his range-circle, the elaborate costume replaced by his usual jeans and work shirt, but the bright yellow circle clearly did nothing to deter the three men and one woman who had set out cheap chairs in a loose horseshoe shape facing him. A single chair remains empty, and the heavily tattooed man sitting next to it looks up at the sound of the door opening and waves to you. "Come on over, Taylor."

There goes any chance that you will be able to keep your true identity secret, at least from what looks like the Privateers' developing inner circle. Not that you were planning on doing so – you should be able to trust your new team – but it's the principle of the thing. _Shut it down,_ you think at your Device. It had known what you wanted during the fight without you having to tell it, and upon questioning, it had been upfront about the mental connection between you. It would be nice to be able to talk with Perfect Storm without worrying that everyone around you would think you're crazy.

Perfect Storm chimes happily, and your normal clothes reappear in a burst of orange light. "Sorry I'm late," you tell them as you slip in beside Alexander. "The north winds were a little stronger than I expected them to be."

"That's the most outlandish excuse I've ever heard," Margaret, the manager for this branch of the Dockworkers Association, mutters jokingly to Kurt. "And worse, I believe it!"

"We only just started," you dad tells you. "We let the national office know earlier today that we have formally dissolved the Brockton Bay chapter, though we're not making it public knowledge, and so far, three people have quit."

"Three now, but how many do you think will do the same?" you quietly ask.

Kurt scoffs. "Ten, maybe twelve. I spent the day talking to the rest of the guys, those in the hospital included. Jacob got a visit from Panacea last night, so he'll check out tomorrow, and most of the rest will leave in the next couple of days. They're all eager to get out there."

"Even after what happened to Bill?"

"We knew what we were getting into," Alexander says gently, laying one of his huge hands over both of yours. "It was a… a surprise, just how many of us got hurt today, but we knew it was going to happen eventually. Going up against the gangs? Fighting the villains the heroes back down against? We're going to get hurt. Some of us are even going to die." He gives you an encouraging squeeze. "But how is that different from any other day in this city? Tim could be murdered by the ABB just walking down the street. The Empire would consider killing Margaret a public service." The black woman scowled but nodded. "I don't _want_ to die, but if I do, I want it to mean something. I'd rather die fighting than be killed like a dog."

The others there nod, and though you bite your lip, you cannot disagree with his position. Isn't that practically the same thing you told Miss Militia earlier that very day?

Your dad sends you an apologetic expression, no doubt thinking that you shouldn't have seen something like that. And you have to admit, seeing a man you knew lying dead in a truck is different from just thinking about it in the abstract. But! But if he was willing to put his life on the line, if all of them are willing to put their lives on the line, you will not disrespect that sacrifice.

"Tim? How much money did we bring in today?" your dad asks.

The weedy accountant shrugs. "I haven't had the chance to count it up, but at a guess? Fifty thousand dollars at least."

"And what about Squealer?"

You clear your throat. "She was unconscious and Velocity was there when I left. If she isn't in custody, I don't know why."

"The Merchants have lost a lot of their money and even one of their capes. We've _accomplished_ something today." That word, uttered so rarely in conjunction with the dockworkers, instills fresh energy into the people assembled before you. "Tim, if you could sort through the money and start splitting it up tomorrow, that'd be great. We need to set some aside for renting new office space to keep up appearances that we're still barely hanging on."

"If you want it to look like you're still working odd jobs, why dissolve the branch?" you ask.

He shakes his head. "Inspections, mostly. As part of the DWA, they had the ability to audit our books at any time. Someone digging into how we were pulling in so much money without taking any jobs would be… bad." You nod in understanding, and he looks at the rest of the group. "Kurt, Alexander, can you organize the guys and find out what you can about any more drug dens? After today, we need to have more information about where we're going before we try another raid. Margaret, you're still willing to be our manager?"

"Someone has to keep you boys in line," she answers with a smile.

"Thank you." He looks at you. "And Taylor? You'll be studying. You're a member of the team," he says when you open your mouth to argue, "and clearly an indispensable one. But you have to think about your future, too. There's no reason for you not to go to college, not with your brains. We'll send those forms to Winslow and Concord tomorrow, but I want you to get started as soon as you can. We won't have anything for you to help with for a while, anyway."

You sigh but give him a nod of your own. You had more freedom before all this, when you were still plain old Taylor and he was too busy keeping the dockworkers in business to pay much attention to what you were doing.

You wouldn't go back to that for all the money in the world.

"I think we've all had a productive day," he tells them. "Go home, get some rest. The next couple of days should be easier."

Once everyone has left, your dad lets out a long sigh and slumps in his chair. Perfect Storm beeps once, presumably to tell you that his power is no longer restrained. "If you were holding it in, why were you all meeting back here?" you ask.

"I came back here so I wouldn't have to worry about it while we were talking. They decided to grab chairs and come back here. I guess it was to show me that they weren't concerned about me influencing them and they trusted me." Smiling faintly, he continues, "I appreciate the thought, but I think I would have preferred it if they let me relax. I don't _want_ them to be under my power during these meetings. That sounds like a good way to never hear any ideas other than my own, and the last thing I want is to make a mistake that gets more people killed when they could have lived."

You shift in your seat, uncertain about what to say to that, and the motion causes something to crinkle audibly in your pocket. Of course, the forms! "I completely forgot to tell you what the PRT said."

"Honestly, I forgot, too," he agrees. "You got us signed up?"

"Well, about that…."

You tell him the bad news about the Protectorate and the Privateers, and his face grows stormier the longer you go on. "That's bullshit," he finally declares when you're finished. "They don't get the same rights just because they aren't capes?"

"I thought the same thing. But now I wonder if we can't say that they do. I mean, you do give them powers, so maybe it would make them qualify? I got the impression Miss Militia might look the other way if we did that…. Dad?"

He had suddenly grown pale. "That's a bad idea." You look at him curiously. "You probably don't remember when they put Teacher away, but his powers caused a lot of panic. Let's not invite any comparisons to a notorious supervillain who was sent to the Birdcage, please."

Now seems an excellent time to change the subject, so while he is still off-balance, you strike. "Hey, Dad? Can I have a pet?"

"…What?"

"A pet. A small, furry animal I can keep in the house to play with."

"I know what a pet _is,_ " he retorts. "I just don't know how we got on this subject."

You shrug. "I was going to ask, anyway, and it really did seem like a reasonable segue. Storm says it knows a… a way to give an animal powers of its own." You might be becoming accustomed to your Device's terminology, but your dad would give you a strange look indeed if you started talking seriously about magic rituals.

He jokes, "If you can make it a healer, I'd start renting it from you."

"That actually is possible," you reply with a smile. During your flight, Perfect Storm had run through the six templates you can choose from, and one of them had some healing spells. You just aren't sure which you like most.

He doesn't seem to know what to say to that, so after a minute, he just shakes his head. "Fine, you can have a pet. But it's a big responsibility. You have to feed it, take care of it, clean up after it—"

"I'm fifteen, Dad, not five!" you laugh as you rise to your feet. "Let's go home. I don't know about you, but I've had a long day."

* * *

 **Nearly done with Arc 1. Just an interlude left. Whew!**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	9. Set Up! 1-x

**Set Up! 1.x**

 _He was trapped._

 _The rocks hemmed him in. The dust choked him. His arm was pinned in place. The rubble shifted and threatened to collapse every time he moved. Even if he didn't move, the concrete groaned and closed in a little more. Only faint sounds drifted to him, and they were just more screams of pain._

 _Here, in the dark, he cried. He was going to die, killed by the goddamn gangs, and they wouldn't even realize it! What would happen to the dockworkers when he was gone? Who would find them jobs? Margaret and Kurt didn't have the contacts he did; would they be able to keep them afloat? Most of them didn't have the money to move to another city, and for the ones who had families, that was something else keeping them in place—_

 _Oh God, Taylor. This was going to destroy her._

 _Hysterical laughter filled the cramped hollow. Would it?! Would it really?! He was already out of her life for the most part. What the fuck kind of father didn't know his daughter was being tormented in school until it put her in the hospital? What kind of father worried about the future of his subordinates before his own child's? Alan and Zoe were far better parents than he was; she'd probably_ _ **flourish**_ _in their care where she had just withered in his own._

 _Son, boss, husband, father; it didn't matter what the role was. He was an unmitigated failure in all of them—!_

 _He blinked blearily, picking his head up from the rock under it. Had he passed out? But that didn't make any sense. He was digging through the rubble, and he was watching the Merchants and Empire duke it out, and he was running to his truck to get the rifle he knew was still in there…._

 _Something was very wrong about all this._

 _He shifted a large chunk of concrete out of the way to reveal a weedy, bespectacled man buried underneath. He stretched out his hand to himself, and he reached up to grab Alexander's hand._

 _"Boss," he said, "I think something weird's going on."_

Danny threw off the covers and sat on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking. This was the second time in as many nights that he had dreamed about the attack on the office, and he doubted it was going to get better anytime soon. He would bear them, though; he was alive to have them, for one thing, and he had been given a second chance at being a father and fixing the city. If a few bad dreams was the price for that, it was one he would gladly pay.

Walking out of his bedroom, he swung by the kitchen and flipped on the coffee pot. He wasn't going back to sleep any time soon, and if he was going to be awake at three in the morning, he might as well be productive. But since it needed a few minutes to work….

He made his way up the stairs as stealthily as he could and gently pushed open the nearest door. Taylor, at least, was sound asleep, though she had kicked off her blankets in the process. All that covered her was a single sheet, and even that had been pushed down far enough to reveal more of his daughter than he had any desire to see.

How had he missed his gawky, awkward little girl blossoming into this beautiful young woman? She looked so much like Annette now that it physically hurt for him to look at her. She was growing up so fast.

And she knew it, too, if her flirting with Ralph was any indication. Her body language just oozed sensuality and devil-may-care attitude, neither of which was helped by her provocative choice of costume. She was her mother's child that way, too, he decided after thinking back to the outfits Annette had shown him from her time under Lustrum, and that was what worried him. The behavior he once appreciated in his twenty-seven-year-old girlfriend evoked entirely different feelings coming from his fifteen-year-old daughter.

But that was an issue for tomorrow. Creeping closer, he took the sheet and pulled it up over her shoulders, and then he rested his hand on her head. That explained a few things all on its own; her skin wasn't fever-hot, but it still felt like she had just come in from a long day of work under the summer sun. "Sweet dreams, kiddo," he murmured, and though he couldn't say with any certainty, he thought he saw her lips curl into the faintest smile.

Standing straight, he glanced over and picked up the deep blue jewel laying on her nightstand. "You're the reason she has these powers, aren't you?" he asked the necklace. "You protected her from Squealer?"

The jewel gave him a dim glow.

"Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you." He replaced her necklace where it had been. "Just keep doing that. Keep our girl safe. Please."

The glow this time was brighter, more confident, and it was even accompanied by the whisper of a chime.

He closed the door behind him and went back down the stairs. A check on the still-brewing coffee, and then he pushed a flashing button on the answering machine. It was probably just a telemarketer, but maybe, just maybe….

 _"You have one new message. Playing message."_ A beep, and the electronic voice was replaced by a jovial man. _"Danny-boy! It's been years since you called. I was convinced you had thrown away my number once Annette's little_ _ **problem**_ _was cleared up. We have to get together some time. Maybe you and that little girl of yours can come down; I know some guys who would love to show a young lady around New York. They'd all behave like perfect gentlemen, I'd make sure of that._

 _"But you didn't call to chat! I don't know what you're planning on hunting up there, and I don't want to know. But if your little slice of Hell is about to lose some of its skinheads, I can talk to a few guys, see who's got some heavy lead for purchase. Might even be some of the rougher crowd who'd be willing to help out if it nets them a trophy or two, if you know what I mean. Just gotta know that the stuff you're talking about isn't cheap, and it's gonna be cash or nothing. I'll call in a few days if I find something._

 _"Message deleted. End of messages."_


	10. First Impact 2-1

**First Impact 2.1**

 **Thursday, February 3  
** "—British withdrew to Mobile on January 18, and news about the peace treaty arrived on February 13, officially ending the war," you mutter as you finish your notes for this chapter from Arcadia's history book. You vaguely remember Mr. Paulson teaching about the War of 1812 in the fall semester, but not in any real detail; whether that was because he was more focused on the Hitler Youth and the junior ABB who caused a scene basically every day or because you were paying more attention to the Trio than him, you don't know. Either way, it's clear that your decision to read all the chapters in the textbook rather than just the topics you hadn't covered in Winslow was the right one.

Perfect Storm buzzes. _"Were the troops of English reprimanded for violating the peace treaty?"_

"No, they weren't," you tell it with a shake of your head. "They didn't know that the war was over. It took weeks, even months for news to travel back and forth back then. It's hard to believe nowadays with the Internet or at least planes to carry packages over long distances." Flipping your notebook closed, you declare, "But that's enough schoolwork for today. What's going on in the disturbing world of PHO?"

The rectangular holographic screen displaying the pages of the textbook vanishes, and dozens more pop up in its place. The screens are too small to read clearly, but they all appear to show posts on Parahumans Online, the main site for cape news. _"The phrase_ 'Calamity Witch' _has appeared in fourteen threads over the last two days. Public opinion is currently positive. The phrases_ 'Taylor' _,_ 'Hebert' _, and_ 'Taylor Hebert' _have not appeared within six degrees of separation of_ 'Calamity Witch' _."_

That's good. That's _very_ good. People connecting you to your cape identity is the last thing you want. Well, one of the last things, anyway. Thankfully, even if someone did make the connection, you have an artificial intelligence on your side who has already proven to be capable of hacking internet security. "So we're still secure. What else?"

Most of the windows vanish, and the rest sort themselves out into six stacks and one individual screen. _"There have been multiple reports of Merchant activity following your capture of Squealer. Combat has been initiated against the Azn Bad Boys and the Empire Eighty-Eight; all conflicts have resulted in losses for the Merchants. Pockets of territory have been lost, but the primary borders are unchanged._

" _Other than battles against the Merchants"_ —the stack farthest to the right is compressed into a single screen filled with text— _"few conversations have centered around the ABB. These have uniformly discussed the ongoing raids by a relatively newer group named the Undersiders against their primary revenue sources."_ You open your mouth to ask for elaboration, but it immediately continues, _"Those revenue sources fall primarily under illicit substance production or distribution, prostitution, or gambling. The discussions concerning the Undersiders not otherwise mentioned speculate about future targets, and the general consensus is that the ABB is their primary target. Their disposition as a group is currently indeterminate, but the official statements by Parahuman Response Team spokespeople have classified them as a villain gang."_

Two more stacks combine into summary screens, and all three of these move to the side in a neat column.

" _Messages about the Empire – correction: messages not concerning battles against the Merchants – have focused on a disconnect between the actions of Empire mages at large and a specific member named Purity."_

"Purity?" You know the name as one of the Empire's bigger members, a flying artillery cape rumored to be as strong as Legend in terms of firepower. This is the first you have heard about a split with the rest of the Empire, though. If she's alone, it might be easier to apprehend her.

" _Correct."_ The stack of Empire-related posts collapse into yet another summary. A different stack spreads out, the screens growing larger until the text on display is actually legible. _"First observed in Brockton Bay in April of 2000 fighting alongside Kaiser and Krieg. She was their primary bombardment specialist until November of 2009. Three months later, she was identified while fighting alone against civilian members of the Merchants. In the following May, she began focusing her attention on the ABB. Since that time, she has not been observed assisting the Empire in any capacity."_

"Troubles in Nazi paradise, maybe?" you wonder out loud. "She's a heavy hitter, but she probably won't be as tough without the rest of them backing her up. Might be an easy target. If we take her out now, she can't give the Empire any help later, either. Next?"

Purity's screens merge and move to the side, as well. _"The contract group Merces, led by a mage named Faultline, is listed as contracted in Las Vegas. They have not returned as of yet."_ All that was left now was the single isolated screen. _"I have endeavored to find additional information about the villain Coil. That search has been unsuccessful. I will continue efforts."_

"Thanks, Storm. Whatever you have on him is more than I've got." You reach out to touch the hologram, and to your surprise, you can actually hold it in your hand. It doesn't feel like anything, just a faint pressure against your fingertips, and it is as thin as an index card. Still, the simple fact that this blurs the line between object and image! Whoever built Perfect Storm was incredible.

The ensuing silence lasts only for a moment. _"There is one other item, Mistress,"_ it says slowly, almost as if it is hesitant to say anything at all. _"Two nights ago, father of Mistress received a communication detailing the possible purchase of devices of unknown nature. Analysis of local idiomatic expressions and euphemisms indicates these devices are potentially high-grade armaments."_

"High-grade…. He's trying to buy heavy weaponry? Why?" The answer hits you as soon as you voice the question, and you drop your head into your empty hand. "So the guys can out-gun the gangs. Damn it, Dad, what are you thinking?"

After a few seconds, you sigh and stand straight again. A flick of your wrist sends Coil's file into the column of summaries, and all seven files vanish without a trace. "I need to think before I do anything about _that_. Come on, Storm. We've got a Guardian Beast to make."

" _Is it still desired that I optimize the Guardian Beast's abilities?"_

Grabbing your jacket, you throw it around your shoulders. "You have a better idea what you're doing than I do. Maybe I'll be willing to play around with it later on, but for now? I leave it in your hands."

" _Trust is much appreciated."_

You reach down and gently wrap your hand around the blue jewel hanging from your neck, the closest you can get to giving it a hug. "I owe you a lot already. Giving you my trust is the least I can do."

Walking to the door, you throw it open and step out into the afternoon sunlight.

* * *

 **This was the point when the players decided to create a familiar/Guardian Beast. They also voted to randomly generate one as I offered a bonus ability to each class if it was random, and they wanted the shiny.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	11. First Impact 2-2

**First Impact 2.2**

Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, it is much more difficult to find a stray animal when you are actually looking for one than when you're just walking around. As soon as Perfect Storm told you that you could use any animal you wanted, you knew that it would be best for everyone if you picked up an animal that didn't already belong to somebody. A stray, assuming Perfect Storm was correct in how much intelligence it would gain, would be more appreciative of getting a nice home than one that was already a family's pet. You could get one from the pound, and you would if you couldn't find one on the streets, but that would leave a paper trail, and they already had opportunities to be adopted.

Of course, when you made that decision, you thought it would take ten minutes or so to stumble upon such a beast. That's turning out not to be the case, and now two hours have gone by and the sun has set. "Let's pack it up, Storm," you finally tell your Device. "We aren't going to—"

Wheels squeal nearby, and you dart through the air to find a white car driving down a residential street. A metal trashcan is laying on its side at the edge of the road, and a small grey shape is in the middle of the street.

"That's convenient," you mutter while drifting closer. Is it a cat? A small dog?

No, it's neither, you realize when you touch down on the street. The raccoon hisses at you and tries to slink away, but that is impossible with its back legs, pelvis, and spine crushed and mangled from being run over. The animal may not have died immediately, but by its huffing pants, you figure it doesn't have much time left. You have a decision to make; let the creature expire and go on looking for something more appropriate for the witch theme you are running with, or give up the chance for a black cat and save it?

The reedy, pitiful whine makes your decision for you. Innocent animals don't deserve to suffer like this. "You don't need an animal to be domesticated before you turn it into a Guardian Beast, do you? A wild one works just fine?"

" _Domestication irrelevant. Personality will be adjusted during ritual."_

"Good enough. Calm down, little guy," you tell the raccoon as you approach. "I'm going to help you. Don't bite me." It doesn't snap at you when you cradle it to your chest, but from the way it angles its head and twitches its jaws, that may be more because it no longer has the strength to do so than for any other reason. You take to the air and crouch on top of a nearby building, your staff obediently floating behind you. "The contract. You said there needed to be a contract for this to work."

" _Repeat after me, Mistress."_

"A contract offered, a new life promised," you declare, echoing the Device's words. Beneath your feet, the increasingly familiar triangle appears, and then it spreads, a second triangle and multiple circles extending from behind it. "My will uplifts you; my mana sustains you. Your purpose: to defend me and my allies, to destroy my foes, to support me in my purpose." Perfect Storm gives you the final line, but you aren't listening. You want more than that, more than just an underling or even a teammate. Tentatively, you add, "And I want you to be my friend, to care about me in a way nobody else does. I will be the same for you, I promise. Agree to these terms, accept my contract, and—"

With a final sigh, the raccoon drops its head and grows still. It does not breathe in again.

"—become something more." You blink your eyes quickly to stave off the itch of tears, a wrenching feeling already building in your heart. Perfect Storm told you that there would be an empathic link, but you didn't expect it to form this quickly, and especially not when the procedure was a failure. A waste; not only for you, but also this creature you had promised to help. "I'm sorry."

Orange light so bright that you have to squeeze your eyes shut explodes into being, and the weight of the raccoon's body in your arms vanishes.

" _Your terms are heard, and my own are given,"_ you hear, the feminine voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. _"You are more than my friend; you are my family, and I will care for you as if you were my own child. Your allies are mine. Your enemies, mine. Your heart and my own beat as one. From your mana and will, I come into being, and this new life I pledge to you!"_

The light ends as suddenly as it began, and you are alone on the rooftop until a pair of milky arms wrap around your shoulders from behind. Turning around, you lay eyes on your Guardian Beast.

 _She's pretty_ , is the first thought that comes to mind. She has none of the gangly remnants of adolescence, instead appearing in her late twenties or so. Steel grey hair falls down to just above her shoulders; two additional lumps, tipped with black, sit on top of her head, and as you watch, they perk up and reveal themselves to be ears. Warm amber eyes watch you in amusement when you finally yank your gaze from her ears. Matte black eyeshadow harkens back to the mask she wore as a raccoon. Your eyes drop lower, and then you blush. Other than a black-and-grey striped stretch of fluff wrapped around her waist – which you rapidly decide does not count since it is, in fact, a _tail_ – she is completely naked.

A second later, the discrepancy clicks into place, and you switch your gaze between the woman and the Device several times. "She's human?! You're human?!"

"Mostly," she replies with a mischievous smile.

If Perfect Storm had a neck, you would be throttling it. "You said this would give an animal powers! You never mentioned that _it would turn her into a person_!"

" _My apologies, Mistress."_

"How did you even do this?!"

" _Magic."_

"Magic isn't _real_!" you insist, ignoring the raccoon-woman's hastily covered snickering. "I know you think it is, but it's not! You're not a magic wand; you're a piece of technology some Tinker built using science!" Perfect Storm buzzes dismissively. "Flare Shooter! Think about that. That can't really be a spell. There's no eye of newt or Latin chanting! It's just a computer program!"

" _The term 'magic' refers to the storage, manipulation, and projection of mana,"_ your Device retorts calmly. _"Mana is an energy type that is fundamental to reality. It is stored in the Linker Core, an unusual structure of nerve tissue found in the spinal column of magic-capable creatures or sapients. Spells are programs that shape and project mana to produce specific results, including but not limited to flying, firing energy projectiles, or creating Guardian Beasts. It would not be inaccurate to compare magic to the computing devices present on this world, merely utilizing mana instead of electromagnetism."_

This is…. You shake your head. This is all getting too hard to swallow. The fact that its explanation makes a strange sort of sense doesn't help matters. "You don't know that any of that is true. You can't know—"

" _This is the standard model of magic developed approximately 400 years ago according to documents located in restored memory sectors."_

"Except there can't be a _'standard model of magic'_ when no one knows how powers work," you insist. "Especially not one that old. Capes have only been around for thirty years!"

" _Mages have been observed for thirty years only on this planet."_

That comment sends your butt crashing to the rooftop. "This planet? What do you mean, _this planet_?!"

" _Memory sectors have been recovered,"_ it repeats. _"I remember six walls. I remember being held in a metal box. I remember the box changing color and melting. I remember the box falling apart. I remember falling through darkness towards a world covered in blue and white and green. I remember the ground approaching, a city visible. I remember impact with another metal box."_ You stare at it blankly, and it adds gently, _"That is where Mistress was encountered."_

"W-W-What?" you croak. "A-Are you talking about reentry? _Atmospheric_ reentry? Like the space shuttle used to do when it was coming back to Earth from space?"

" _Correct."_

The assumptions you had made since finding the jewel flash through your mind. "So you weren't made by an African Tinker at all. You were made by alien space wizards, and you've been teaching me space magic." Perfect Storm chimes in agreement. "I… I need to sit down."

" _Mistress is sitting down."_

"Oh. So I am."

One of the raccoon-woman's arms pulls you close. "I think that's enough revelations for one day. Can you show me the way home?"

" _That is possible."_

You don't notice what she's doing until she has already picked you up. "You can't just carry me—" That's when you see the rooftops racing away below you. "Are you flying?"

"Yep." She gives you a playful wink. "I don't know how I know how to do this, but I do."

" _Some abilities were transferred from Mistress during creation process. Mistress's talent for flight was one of them."_

"There you go, sweetie."

"Can neither of you remember my name?" you groan, deciding to focus on just that for right now. That, at least, makes sense. "Taylor. Just call me Taylor."

"Whatever Mistress desires!"

"Ugh. Just shut up."

The raccoon laughs the entire flight back to the house.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

You run out of the kitchen as soon as you hear the front door open. It's a good thing your dad told you he was probably going to be out till late working through the rumors the rest of the Privateers had collected; it gave you time to think of how best to broach the subject of your new 'pet'.

Unfortunately, you still don't have any good ideas.

"What's got you so wound up?" he asks once he gets a good look at your expression.

"Remember how I said if I got a pet, I could give it powers of its own?" He gives you a wary nod. "That's what has me wound up."

The clink of a glass being set down comes from the kitchen, and he huffs before starting to walk towards it. "And you left it alone in the kitchen?"

"Dad, stop! Perfect Storm didn't explain everything, so when I found a hurt raccoon, I did the ritual but because I didn't know how it was going to work I wasn't expecting what happened to happen and now everything's gotten a little—"

He staggers to a stop in the middle of the doorway. The grey-haired woman sitting at the table, now dressed at least somewhat more modestly in a thick bathrobe, raises one hand and wiggles her fingers. "Hello," she says in a sing-song.

"…complicated."

Your dad is still staring at her in shock, so you clear your throat before continuing, "We ordered her some clothes online, and they're supposed to arrive tomorrow or the day after at the very latest. I had to charge it to your credit card, but you can take that out of my cut of Monday's raid. Between now and then, she's willing to stay mostly in her raccoon form. We don't know what powers she has just yet, but we can test them out in the Boat Graveyard or something. She's supposed to have a bigger combat shape, too, and we're planning on giving that a try at the same time." And still he isn't saying anything. "Dad?"

He slowly turns his head to look at you and asks in a weak voice, "This… is a _little_ complicated?"

"Uh, yeah." The two of you stare at each other for several long seconds. "Am I grounded?"

"…I'm seriously considering it."

* * *

 **Taylor was always going accept that she was using magic. The situation just needed to get sufficiently bizarre first.** _ **Danny's**_ **the one you should really feel sorry for.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	12. First Impact 2-3

**First Impact 2.3**

 **Saturday, February 5  
** "Sam, hurry up!"

 _«Give me a minute!»_

You shake your head and sigh. It is Saturday, the last of your homework for the week is done, and you're out of excuses to delay the brewing confrontation with your father any longer. He is a grown man. You shouldn't have to hold his hand and keep him from running headlong into traffic, but that is exactly what it feels like he's doing!

A quiet _rata-tata-tata_ comes from the stairwell, and you hold out your arms to catch the raccoon that flies into your arms and then crawls up to your shoulder. Metaphorically flies, that is, not literally. While your Guardian Beast can fly, that ability is limited in her 'pet' form to incredibly long jumps. You asked Perfect Storm about it, but his response about _'inefficient mana transmission'_ and _'ratio of Linker Core density to body mass'_ had quickly left you in the intellectual dust. The short version is that if she wants to fly, she needs to be large enough that bystanders would immediately notice something distinctly off about her. "I'm not a taxi service, you know."

 _«You'd make we_ _ **walk**_ _there?»_ she asks, telepathic voice filled with feigned horror. « _All the way across the city?»_

"You're perfectly capable of keeping up, and you know it." That doesn't earn you even a twitch, and you sigh and don your Barrier Jacket. You really do not mind her hanging on to you, though you are sure that she will earn you strange looks from bystanders.

The flight to the Privateers' new base is unremarkable, much like the building itself. A moment to check that no one is in a position to see you, then you drop into a nearby alleyway and type in the code to enter the back door of the squat, white office building. The stairwell just inside leads you up to the second floor, which the Dockworkers Association has claimed completely.

Several of the men give you nods of acknowledgement, including the younger man you briefly flirted with the first time you showed up at the old headquarters, but you are not in the mood to make small-talk. Though your dad's door is closed, you open it and step in.

He frowns at your sudden entrance but does not hang up the phone. "Yes, this evening would be ideal. Six o'clock at Warehouse 12 on Fletcher Street." A twist of his lips appears that could be either a smile or a grimace. "Then we shouldn't have any problems. So," he says to you when he sets down the handset, "what has you in a mood today? Good morning, Sam."

 _«Good morning to you, Danny,»_ your Guardian Beast replies with a faint purr.

Shutting and locking the door gives you an excuse to look away and compose your expression. Samantha is about the same size your mom was, so she was able to wear your mom's clothes around the house while you waited for her own to come in. That image had affected you, but it had affected your dad even more, and she had responded to that by gently teasing him. At least, you hope it was teasing and not flirting; you don't have too much of a problem with the thought of him remarrying and you getting a stepmother, but the idea of him and a raccoon is just…. No.

Without preamble, you admit, "Perfect Storm overheard your phone call, and we need to talk about it."

"What phone call?" he asks in honest confusion.

" _But if your little slice of Hell is about to lose some of its skinheads,"_ Perfect Storm plays back, _"I can talk to a few guys, see who's got some heavy lead for purchase."_

"Ah," he whispers, " _that_ phone call."

"That phone call." Plucking your hat off your head and hanging it on the corner of a chair, you run your fingers through your hair. "Honestly, Dad, what were you thinking?"

He leans back in his chair, and when he answers, his voice is firm. "I was thinking that if we want to have any chance at actually cleaning out Brockton Bay, we need something better than baseball bats and crowbars in our hands."

"And you thought machine guns was the answer?" you ask incredulously. "What are you going to do when the gangs fight back just as hard?"

"What is the alternative? Keep from making too many waves, don't push them too hard, let them get away?" He scoffs. "Since you seem to have everything figured out, tell me. How well did giving the Empire and the Merchants the freedom to rove around protect us? Did it stop them tearing down the old office? Did it keep people from being buried alive in there? Did it?!"

"And what happens when a gang war breaks out?" Spokespeople for the PRT on PHO had mentioned the consequences of gang wars again and again every time someone posted a demand for the Protectorate to actually do something about the gangs. The statistics from previous villain wars were shocking and worrying. Hundreds, potentially thousands of casualties. Millions of dollars in destroyed homes. The years it could take for a city to recover. And that most of the time, the gangs were still there at the end of it all, a new equilibrium reached. "How many people do you think are going to die when the gangs get more violent?"

He slams his hand on his desk and shoots to his feet. "People are _already_ dying! Every time the Protectorate lets another villain get away instead of pursuing him to the ends of the earth, that's someone still on the streets who has already proven that he does not give a _fuck_ about hurting other people! Do you think Skidmark is going to wake up one day and decide that everything he's done is wrong? Do you think Kaiser will turn the Empire into a soup kitchen? Do you think Lung will consider turning his life around and helping people for a change? If they were going to do that, they would have already! They can't be bargained with. They can't be reasoned with. They don't feel any remorse for the things they've done or the people they've hurt. And they won't _stop_ until somebody puts them down _permanently_."

You manage not to flinch. His words are ringing far too close to the very opinions you expressed to Miss Militia on Monday, if far more extreme than yours.

"The PRT doesn't press them hard enough," he continues, his voice softening, "but that's because letting the gangs go is safer for _them_. For everyone else who just wants to be left alone and get on with their lives, it's more dangerous because the threat never ends. I've heard the same excuses from them year after year after year. They try to spin their course of action as the safest one, but that only looks at right this minute. A hundred dead in the span of a week sounds worse than ten dead over the course of a month, but by the time a year goes by, you have more bodies at your feet than you would have if you had moved decisively to wipe the gangs out of existence. Because that's our only two options now that they've dug in so deep: a big wound that will eventually heal or death by a thousand cuts.

"I refuse to bleed out any longer, and so does everyone else here."

Silence descends in the room and hangs there for several seconds, but eventually he sighs and sits back down. "I'm tired, Taylor. I'm tired of living in a city where the villains have all but taken over. I'm tired of listening to the PRT say they're handling the problem even though it all just keeps getting worse. I'm tired of seeing people who have been beaten or raped or killed because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and yet we never see anyone get any justice. Half-measures haven't worked, and I'm tired of pretending that they ever will. So yes, we're going to arm ourselves. We're going to stand up against them once and for all. We're going to see this through."

"So that's it?" you demand. "Just murder them all, collateral damage be damned?"

He blinks at you in apparent confusion. "Murder them all? You think that's what I'm talking about?"

"What am I supposed to think when you're going on about _'they won't stop until somebody puts them down permanently'_ and _'half-measures haven't worked'_?!"

"I'm talking about what we're going to do about Hookwolf and Oni Lee and Kaiser. Purity, too, if she leaves the independent life and runs back to the Empire to help once we focus on them. The kind of villains who can't be taken down with anything less than lethal force." He shakes his head. "The dealers and the low-level thugs? We can handle them with baseball bats like we've been doing. We didn't kill anybody on Monday or yesterday, and if we can avoid that for as long as possible, I'm perfectly happy with zip-tying them and leaving them for the cops. I just know that sooner or later, the gangs will step up their game, and we have to be ready to keep pace with them; if we don't, _we'll_ be the ones getting killed. They pull out shotguns? We have some, too. The Empire throws in murderers and monsters? We'll respond with assault rifles. Whenever they escalate, we'll be right there with them, because pulling back and letting them go like the heroes have for the last ten years has done nothing but see more innocent people be beaten and murdered who should have been safe."

"And you expect to run into Hookwolf or Oni Lee anytime soon?" you press.

"Well, no. Right now, we're focusing on the Merchants. They're the lowest of the low, and also the safest to put down. Honestly, we don't need any big weapons at the moment," he admits, "but we intend to move against the Empire eventually, and I'd rather have two or three rifles and never fire them than see Hookwolf show up when all the guys have is a bunch of crowbars. If nothing else, there's always the chance that just seeing the guns will be enough incentive on its own for them to sit quietly and not fight back."

Okay, that's not as bad as you first thought. You were starting to worry that he had lost his mind. "Do you even know how to shoot a gun like that?"

"Carl was in the National Guard, and he said he'd be willing to teach a few guys how to fire them safely. I have given this _some_ thought," he adds in a mutter.

"Maybe you should have saved some of that thinking for how you were going to explain it," is your dry response. "You remember how you said you wanted Alexander and Kurt and Tim and Margaret not to be under your influence so they could tell you if they thought what you were planning was stupid? This is me doing that same job.

"Just keep me in the loop, okay? I feel like I just got my dad back, and I don't want to lose you because you ran headlong into a crusade and got yourself killed."

He grimaces at that last jab. You don't want to hurt him by poking at that wound, but if the alternative is hearing about his death, a little pain now is worth it to get your point across. Deciding to change the subject now that everything has been at least mostly straightened out, you ask, "Who was that on the phone?"

"A potential seller." Well, there goes the hope about moving on to some lighter topic. "He's offering a lot, actually. Laser rifles, financial support, information. He wants to meet tonight to see if we can make a deal." Looking up and meeting your eye, he adds, "I want you there with me. He didn't sound like he was setting us up, but I'd rather not get there and be surprised."

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

It went without saying that you were going to go and keep him safe, and that is why you are now landing lightly on your feet in front of a row of long-empty warehouses. Samantha hops off your shoulder, blurring in midair to become a woman in a black suit. Tugging gently on the cuffs of her charcoal shirt, she turns to give you a look. She liked this outfit the instant she saw it, and she spared herself no dignity while begging you to buy it for her. "So? What do you think?"

"You'd look perfectly respectable if it weren't for the tail," you tell her honestly, pointing down at the long train of stripped fluff hanging down almost to her ankles. You didn't realize before now that she was good with a needle, but you _know_ those slacks did not come tailored for somebody with a tail. At least the fedora mostly covers her inhuman ears.

"Jealousy isn't a good look on you, sweetie."

A roll of your eyes, and then you walk towards the car that is pulling up a short distance away. Your Guardian Beast fills the space to your right and a step behind as naturally as if that has always been her spot. "You two ready for this?" your dad asks after he steps out of the back seat, already fully dressed in his own costume.

"As ready as we will be."

Setting the tricorne on his head, he enters the doors that someone has already slid open, you and Samantha moving to flank him. Though not truly dark, the interior is certainly dimmer than— You startle when the world turns bright blue, but then it brightens until you can see clearly to the far wall.

So your mask comes with built-in night vision. Huh.

What your newly improved sight shows you is a line of men in black clothing and balaclava standing against the wall; each one of them is carrying a silvery, futuristic rifle, and from the bulkiness of their shirts, you would put money on them wearing body armor of some kind.

The man waiting for you in the middle of the space could not be more different. He is skeletally thin, the black body stocking clinging to his skin and putting every rib on display. You are just thankful that he has chosen to wear a cup. The only bit of color on him comes from the white snake that winds its way up from his left ankle and around his body several times before perching on his forehead. In a deeper voice than you would have expected from a man of his build, he greets you, "The Privateers, I presume?"

You glance at your dad, hoping that he will take point.

"Some of us," he replies. "Enough to hear you out."

"I see." After a moment, the man nods. "Very well. I am Coil."

Coil. Now _that_ is a name you recognize. What could a villain want from you?

"Captain, Calamity Witch, and Samantha."

Coil turns his head to look at your Guardian Beast. "No secret identity for you, my dear?"

"I can't exactly blend in," she replies blandly, swishing her tail back and forth behind her for his benefit.

"As you wish."

"On the phone, you talked about weapons," your dad says, pulling everyone back to the topic at hand. "Show me."

One of the men at the back walks up at a snap of Coil's fingers and gives the rifle to his boss. "One of Pyrotechnical's simpler designs. A single laser with multiple intensity settings. Light-weight, robust…." Jamming the butt into his shoulder, Coil points it at a stack of concrete blocks a moderate distance away. A bright purple beam lances out and shatters the topmost block, glowing fragments spraying out and falling to the ground ten feet away. He hands the rifle back to the soldier, who returns to his previous place; his position is so precise that you could almost believe that he never actually moved. "Easy to use. If you have ever wielded an assault rifle, you will have no difficulties with it. Or if not, it should not take long to become familiar."

Your dad nods, and somehow he looks almost bored at the entire proceeding. All those years of holding back his anger at the city council have given him an impressive poker face. "I understand that Tinker weapons require extensive maintenance."

"This model is built to make maintenance possible by anyone with a mechanic's background. The actual replacement parts are expensive and likely more complicated to produce, but the process itself is not."

"How much?"

"Eight thousand dollars each, the same as I paid for them originally."

You blink in surprise at how apathetically that number was recited. You know now, after looking at the books, that your group raided some Merchant drug dens and what looked like it might have been a distribution station just last night, so you know the Privateers have cash, but what Coil is asking for is still a lot of money. "Why?"

Coil turns to regard you at your slip. "Why what?"

After a moment's panic, you shrug. In for a penny, in for a pound, and Samantha can guard your dad if this all goes south. He's the only one of you three who doesn't have some kind of defensive forcefield. "Why are you selling us these rifles at all? I wouldn't think a villain would be willing to cooperate with a hero team."

You expect some move of aggression. You expect him to call the deal off. You _don't_ expect him to chuckle as though you just told a joke. "The Protectorate does have quite the public relations machine, doesn't it?" You raise an eyebrow at the non sequitur. "All too often, _'villain'_ is used to refer to methods as well as motivations. Cause a scene, don't fit in, stop playing by their rules, and they consider you a villain. It doesn't matter that you want to see the true villains forced out of the city as much as they do. Why am I willing to help you?" He splays out the fingers of one hand over his chest. "Because we are the same: heroes who want to _do_ good, not just look good in front a camera. I refused to knuckle under to their demands, and so they smear my name in the public arena and make false allegations to defend their… let us call it their bullying, for lack of a better word."

His diatribe strikes a chord with you. Miss Militia did not seem like she was the kind of person who would condone slander like that, but then again, neither was Mrs. Knott a representative example of Winslow's faculty. And just like the Trio isolated you, it is entirely possible that corruption in the upper levels of the PRT could cast a hero, or at most an antihero, as a villain. PHO did not have much about Coil's crimes; could it really be that what was there was just a lie repeated over and over again until everyone believed it?

"I want one for now," your dad says, pulling you from your introspection. "We need time to work with it and see for ourselves how simple and effective it is. Give me some way to contact you, and we'll get more if we like what we see."

"You're a deliberate man, aren't you, Captain? I admire that." A nod sends the man on the far end of the line moving over to a stack of crates. While he comes back with one, Coil continues, "Even should you decide that these are not for you, I would like to discuss a potential partnership between your group and my own. I do believe we could go far together."

"I'll consider it."

"That is all I ask."

Samantha steps up to take the crate from the soldier and then walks backwards to you, the crate balanced on one shoulder. Your dad pulls a fat wad of bills out of his pocket, a rubber band holding them together, and counts some out. Once he has enough, he secures the smaller roll with another band and lobs it to Coil in an underhanded toss. The antihero gives it only a cursory glance before returning his attention to you. "Someone will call you Monday with a number you may use to contact me."

The three of you quickly leave the building and stand outside the still-running car. "Any problems, boss?" the driver asks.

Your dad shakes his head. "No problems. Just nerve-racking." Turning to you, he asks, "Are you two coming back to base, or heading somewhere else?"

"I still need to practice with my war form," your Guardian Beast tells him. "Human is fine, probably because Calamity is human. My original form works, too. When I get big?" She shakes her head. "I feel like I have four left feet."

"It's getting better, though. You don't fall on your face nearly as much as you did at first." She rolls her eyes and lifts her nose in a show of dismissal. "We should be back in an hour or so. Don't wait up for us."

"Be careful."

You watch him drive away, and then your and your pet take to the skies.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

 _«Mistress, you have a message.»_

"PHO, right?" you guess, dodging Sam as she barrels towards you in her war form. She just barely misses tagging you with her gigantic paw, and this time she does not stumble upon her landing. At its affirmative chime, you continue, "Read it out for me."

 _«Witch,_

 _«I know some things you want to hear before you hop into bed with Coil. He's not who you think he is. If you want to know the truth about him, we'll meet up and chat._

 _«Tattletale.»_

"Tattletale," you mutter. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

 _«Tattletale is a member of the Undersiders. She is presumed to be their commanding officer.»_

"The same group that was harassing the ABB." Perfect Storm waits patiently while you consider what that implies. "How would she know that we met with Coil? Was she there and we just didn't notice her?"

 _«All individuals present were fully visible.»_

"So how does she know? And what should we do about it?"

* * *

 **Can I just say that writing Taylor as the person who's trying to** _ **de-escalate**_ **a situation felt really weird? It's becoming clear where her tenacity and ability to focus on her goals regardless of collateral damage comes from, though, that's for sure.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	13. First Impact 2-4

**Jack Inqu:** Does Taylor have shard powers? No. The way I set things up for this story/quest/thing is that using a Device actually burns out the Corona Pollentia and Gemma, which makes them mutually exclusive. I didn't want to have to deal with all the parahuman conflict drive or no conflict drive baggage. Any problems or mistakes are therefore purely human nature (since they're the fault of the players). And yes, Samantha's outfit was inspired by Contessa's.

* * *

 **First Impact 2.4**

 **Tuesday, February 8  
** The afternoon air is warm as you and Samantha drift through the sky. You have practiced with her a little, the pair of you testing her limits as best you could, but she has admitted that there are skills in her repertoire that she doesn't feel comfortable using on you. Nothing directly lethal, she promised, just debilitating.

Clearly, if you want to watch her pull out all the stops, you need to find an acceptable target.

That is why you are floating above the shops of downtown Brockton Bay instead of studying. The Privateers have switched back to reconnaissance for the immediate future as they prepare to hit another drug den, so working with them is out, and you really do not feel like taking on one of the gangs on their home turf with just your Guardian Beast as backup today. You figure if you go on a patrol, you might find some gang members ripe for a spanking by the maternal raccoon, and even if nothing turns up there, you might have a chance to introduce yourself to some of Brockton Bay's other heroes.

A glint in the distance catches your eye, and you look over to see a boy in red and gold armor floating along on a skateboard. There is only one person in the city who dresses in armor like that: Kid Win, the Tinker among the Wards. That would make the green-and-white-suited figure who looks like she is teleporting from rooftop to rooftop Vista; from their relaxed poses, you figure they are out on patrol just as you are.

 _«Weren't you going to say hello?»_

"Yes, _Mom_ ," you bite out, not nearly as upset as your voice makes you out to be. Gliding over, you give them a brief wave when they turn to watch you. Crap, what do you say?! "Hello." Well, that's a start.

"You're that new cape, right? Calamity Witch," Vista chirps. Kid Win snickers just a little, and she gives him a heated glare before clearing her throat. "I mean, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Vista, and he's— Do you have a raccoon on your shoulder?!"

Samantha giggles at the girl's obvious delight and waves one tiny paw at her. « _Hi, Vista. I'm Samantha.»_

"OH MY GOD SHE TALKS!"

At this point, the young heroine's partner can no longer stifle his laughter. "Sorry about her. Ever since somebody posted that video of you fighting Squealer on PHO, she's been fangirling— Hey!" he shouts when his head suddenly jerks forward.

Vista lowers her hand slowly, her expression actually a little bit menacing. When she turns her attention back to you, however, it is all wide eyes and smiles. "Can I hold her? Um, hold you? I mean…. Never mind."

 _«Of course.»_ A leap carries Samantha from your shoulder into Vista's waiting arms, and the heroine – how old is she really? From her behavior and size, you're thinking eleven or twelve – wastes no time in cuddling the fuzzy creature. She immediately squeals in girlish delight when your Guardian Beast begins to purr contentedly.

You roll your eyes. "Ham it up, why don't you?"

Kid Win coughs into his hand, though whether to buy time to say whatever it is he wants to say or keep from laughing again is anybody's guess. "Since it looks like my partner isn't going to let go of your partner anytime soon, would you like to patrol with us for a while? We planned to be out here for another half-hour, make sure nothing's going on around the edges of Empire territory."

"I don't know," you say with a glance over at your oh-so-ferocious protector, who currently is perched on top of Vista's head. "We might need to go before _somebody_ kidnaps my Guardian Beast. But maybe for a little while."

Patrolling with the Wards, you soon discover, is far from the chore you first presumed it would be. Before now, you had always projected the backbiting and nastiness you associated with Emma and her cronies onto the high school–aged heroes; so sure were you that it would just be more of the same that joining their ranks never seriously crossed your mind. You have never been happier to be proven wrong. Kid Win has some of the same geekiness and social awkwardness that you have always suffered from, and though his leans more towards history than the mathematics you would have expected from a Tinker or the computer programming that was your favorite subject, you can still identify him as a kindred spirit. Vista, on the other hand, soon shocks you with just how much she knows about the ins and outs of heroing work; not just patrolling and how best to take down a running criminal, but also working with cops who aren't huge fans of parahumans and navigating the hellish waters of public relations.

You don't know who this Chambers guy is, but you make a mental note to run away quick if you ever encounter him.

Raised voices catch your attention, and the four of you fly, jump, and ride toward the disturbance. A group of men, all bulked up like they are on steroids and all with shaved heads, walk out of the building; one of them jerks a black duffel bag onto his shoulder and laughs at another's joke.

"Hey!" Kid Win calls out. The seven men look up in surprise, and their eyes widen when they see three heroes watching their every move. "We wanna have a quick chat."

The skinheads turn on their heels and start sprinting down the street.

"And they're running," Vista mutters with a shake of her head. "Why do they always run? Haven't they ever watched cop shows? _Everyone_ knows if somebody's running away, they're guilty of something, and they always get caught like twenty seconds later."

 _«Maybe we should give them a head start?»_ Samantha suggested. « _Let them think they'll get away this time?»_

"No, no. We tried doing that once. Armsmaster yelled at us for ten minutes, and then Piggy did it for another fifteen before putting us all on shit duties for a week. Though that might have been because Clockblocker held up a sign that read seven out of ten."

 _«She didn't appreciate being mocked?»_

"It was either that or the fact that Armsmaster got an eight."

"Okay, that's long enough." You swing your staff in a lazy arc in front of you, seven Flare Shooters forming one after another. A swift backhand sends them flying, and the magic bullets weave in and out of each other's path in an elaborate dance before they reach their targets and detonate. The thugs are flung forwards by the blasts and tumble and roll around on the ground before finally coming to a halt.

Showing off? You? Never.

The four of you casually make your way over to where the men are laid out, faint scorch marks marring the backs of their tee shirts. Apparently, you can't take _all_ the fire out of your Flare Shooters. One of them has a phone out and is whispering harshly into it until Vista reaches out into the air and still somehow plucks the phone out of his hands. "Sorry, he'll have to call you later!" she says cheerfully before tapping the screen. "Who wants to be the first to explain what you've been up to?"

"We ain't telling you nothing!" the man who had the phone spits out.

Kid Win shakes his head in disappointment. "If that's how you want to play this, that's fine. We'll let the BBPD convince you to talk to them. Vista, you still have Sergeant Berkowitz's direct line? You know how much he _loves_ arresting Nazis."

 _«Hmm?»_ You look over to see that Samantha has cocked her head, her ears perked up. « _Does anyone else hear that?»_

"Hear what?" Vista asks.

«… _Rocks cracking.»_ She glances over your shoulder, and her eyes widen in fright. « _Behind you!»_

You wheel around in midair and barely see the dark mass hurtling at you before you raise your left hand and scream, "Strong Shield!" The triangular design spreads out from just in front of your palm only just in time to stop the metal dumpster that had been thrown at you. The next second, a crack appears in the lines of script, and then another.

Darting away, you watch as the force behind the projectile finishes overwhelming your shield and punches through.

"Rune. Great," Kid Win mutters.

Poking your head around the corner proves his assumption to be the right one. A blonde teenager dressed in a dark blue robe is standing on top of a chunk of concrete the size of a school bus, two more slowly orbiting her. « _Sam_ ,» you think at your Guardian Beast, « _you see what I see?»_

 _«I do.»_ Vista's gasp of astonishment almost drowns out the faint buzz of Samantha's transformation. "Keep her busy for a couple of seconds while I get the coordinates."

"Keep her busy. Right." Steeling yourself for what you know is a dumb idea, you drift out from behind the building and into her line of sight. "Hey, Nazi wizard! I think you left your beard somewhere!"

Flying and shooting? That you can do. Pre-fight banter? Not so much.

You can hear her scoff from all the way over here. "Like you have the right to make witch jokes." One of the boulders – what did she do, rip it right out of the street? – stops circling her and spins to point its sharp end at you. "Go home and play with your dolls, and maybe I won't squash your crazy ass—"

Orange light shimmers behind her, and Rune spins around just in time to catch the full force of Samantha's spinning kick with her face. The villain flies through the air again, this time completely unassisted, and slams into the windows of the ten-story building a short distance away. « _You weren't kidding about that couple of seconds, were you?»_ you project to her.

 _«Not at all.»_

Your celebration is cut short when that same building shatters, the plexiglass windows peeling themselves off in a single piece to swat Samantha away like an annoying fly. "You wanna play like that, witch bitch?!" the villainess shouts, standing on another stretch of window before jumping onto the same rock she had been riding before. "Then let's play!" You really should have paid more attention to the fact that it didn't drop to the street below.

A faint flicker is all the warning Rune has before bolts of bright red energy appear out of nowhere right above her, followed by Kid Win himself as he flies out of the spatial distortion Vista created. At such close range, the Empire cape is at a severe disadvantage; sparks sizzle around his knuckles, built-in tasers perfect for fist-fights like this one, and his armor is strong enough to withstand her own ineffectual strikes. Of course, he's too close for you to risk peppering her with Flare Shooters, but as long as she's stuck dodging—

Rune jumps off her platform, and your attention is torn between the villain as she lands on the sheet of plexiglass and the second enormous chunk of rock that is dropping directly on top of Kid Win.

A streak of grey smashes into him from behind, rocketing the teenaged hero out of the crush zone. _"Vista, catch!"_ Samantha shouts, cutting off her insane speed boost enough to toss Kid Win into the air, from which he immediately disappears. The next burst of telepathy is not even words, just a flicker of a couple of pictures, but it's enough that you think you know what she's planning. You stretch out your hand and catch hers, the sheer force of the catch spinning you around, and you add your own speed to the impromptu slingshot maneuver. The hand clutching your wrist shifts, her own wrist growing thicker and furrier, and then you let go. Her Gliding Paw spell activates again, speeding her up again before you can see the end of the transformation, and you flick the dozen Flare Shooters you created during your spin at Rune. They won't hit before Samantha does, but she is just as immune to fire as you are.

Rune doesn't have that same protection.

Samantha slams into the Nazi like a three-hundred-pound muscle-bound bullet – which is pretty much what her war form is – and silvery blurs are all you can make out of her accelerated swipes. That is the main spell she was so worried about hitting you with; her claws on their own are not capable of inflicting much in the way of injury, but a cumulative weakening of villains' armor or, if they are not wearing any, their innate durability? Your Guardian Beast is confident she can handle just about any Brute you throw at her.

The grappling pair hit the ground hard, and your magic bullets impact them a short moment later. The rocks that have so far been hovering in the air shudder and drop, but Samantha is already out of the way, the battered, clawed, and scorched villain held unconscious in her forepaws while she waddles towards you. Looking more like a squash-faced badger that has been scaled up to the size of a bear than any raccoon you've ever seen, Samantha on her hind legs stands nearly as tall as you do. She dumps Rune on the ground and opens her mouth in an animalistic smile, showing off three-inch fangs and what are – especially when staring into her mouth when she's on top of you, as has happened before during your sparring sessions – far too many sharp teeth behind them. « _Anyone going to take care of the thugs?»_

You turn around and sigh when you see the unpowered skinheads stumbling away as fast as they can. Another set of Flare Shooters flicker out of existence and reappear right behind them to smash into their heads, and they all collapse like abandoned puppets. "Thanks for the boost, Vista."

"You're, uh, you're welcome," she mutters while still staring at Samantha's war form. "If I said anything that offended you, I'm really, really sorry."

Samantha trots over to the shorter heroine and stands up again so she can pat the girl on the head. « _Don't worry. You're a sweet kid.»_

Clearing his throat, Kid Win steps up and holds out the raccoon's fedora. "You dropped this during your whole 'spin around and tackle Rune' thing."

 _«Thank you, dear.»_ She shrinks back to her human form and takes it from him so she can set it once more on top of her ears. "I would hate to lose this. It really ties my whole style together."

Only now that everything is over do you hear the whining sirens, and the Tinker shakes his head. "That'll be the cops. The PRT should be here in a few minutes to pick up Rune. You can stay for that and give your statements to them then, but if you want to take off, we won't blame you. Just don't be surprised if Armsmaster or Miss Militia chase you down so you can fill out the paperwork."

Considering Samantha has shifted back to her original shape and has returned to Vista's shoulder, you know what her vote is. "We can stick around for a little bit. Now, what were you saying about the time you and Gallant switched armors? Something about him activating the hoverboard at the wrong time…."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	14. First Impact 2-5

**First Impact 2.5**

 **Thursday, February 10**  
The time and place Tattletale where eventually suggested for you to meet her is an empty rooftop on the fringes of ABB territory at four in the afternoon. There is nothing remarkable about it; you know that from the inspection you and Samantha quickly carry out, which is the entire reason the pair of you showed up an hour early. Once you determine that the area is secure, or at least not booby-trapped, you settle yourself on top of an air conditioning unit to wait for the villain. Samantha, meanwhile, lurks out of sight in her war form, just in case this conversation devolves into a fight.

It is still five minutes until the top of the hour when a blonde teenager in a skintight costume of black and lavender climbs up the fire escape ladder. "You're early. Good."

"You said you had information about Coil," you say, twirling your staff in your hand. It is a nervous habit you've developed since finding Perfect Storm, and strangely, it does make you feel more centered. "I don't know how you knew about our meeting in the first place, and I don't know whether I can trust the information you claim to have."

She smirks. "I knew about the meeting because I was watching the whole time. A little camera in the corner, and a speaker in Coil's ear so I could tell him what I found out from you."

 _«Did you notice anything like that?_ » you project to your Device.

 _«Did not monitor electromagnetic signals at that time. Sincerest apologies, Mistress.»_

"How else do you think he knew why Captain is displeased with the Protectorate, or that you were bullied all through high school? It's why you dropped out in the first place… just last week? Now that's interesting," she adds, her grin widening. "Which makes Captain your father or uncle; no, your father. That enough to prove I know what I'm talking about?"

"How do you even know any of that?" you demand.

Spreading her arms wide, she boasts, "I'm psychic, obviously."

 _«False. No telepathic signals detected.»_

"Let's say I believe you. What do you know that's so earth-shattering about Coil?"

"He's really a villain. Oh, the whole _'persecuted antihero'_ routine was well done on his part, I'll give him that, but it's a lie. He wants to set himself up as the kingpin of the city, and to do that, he needs the established gangs taken out. It's why he hired the Undersiders – my team – and it's why he's ingratiating himself to the Privateers. You guys are doing such a good job cleaning out the Merchants that he thinks you'll be ready for the big leagues soon." Tattletale shrugs, the motion faintly theatrical. "You think you're heroes now, but then it'll be one little favor for your business partner. Then another, and another, and soon you'll all be his minions and you won't even know how you got there." Tilting her head, she adds, "Or you'll die against the gangs. Then you're a potential obstacle that has so politely removed itself from his path."

"That doesn't make any sense," you protest. "If he's really this ambitious criminal mastermind, why would he want a group of heroes anywhere near him?"

"So he'll be the first one you turn to when the other gangs discover you aren't playing the game and decide you need to be dealt with."

Shooting her a suspicious glance, you demand, "What 'game' are you talking about?"

"You ever play cops and robbers when you were a kid?" she asks. "Ninety percent of the cape world, that's exactly what it is. A giant, full-contact game of cops and robbers with fun powers and toys. Everyone gets to run around in costumes and live out this second life."

"Yes, because it's so much _fun_ when people's homes and livelihoods are destroyed, or when they're beaten by Nazis or even Leet and Uber acting out _Grand Theft Auto_ again. You'll have to forgive me if I think you're full of crap."

"Oh, I know you can't see it," she replies airily, her smirk growing once more. "That's because you're in that other ten percent. The crazies, the violent extremists. Oni Lee, Lung, Heartbreaker, Coil… and Calamity Witch. You want to know what I found out watching you and Captain?" she asks before you can say anything in your defense. "You're going to kill somebody eventually. You'll take this way more seriously than you should, and eventually somebody's going to push you just that _little_ bit too far. You're already well on your way. The Merchants are shit, and no one's going to miss them, but you're not going to stop with them. You'll go after the ABB, and the Empire's going to take the opportunity to claim some Asian turf. There's an entire balancing act that keeps this powder keg from going off, and you're going to kick it all down. All those people who'll get hurt then? They're gonna be on your head."

You narrow your eyes but do not spit out the first retort that comes to your mind. Do you want a gang war to rip through Brockton Bay? Of course you don't. It's one of the things you were worried about when you thought your dad was planning to go commando on them and blowing away everyone in sight. At the same time, though, any equilibrium like the one Tattletale is talking about that depends on the good sense of violent psychopaths like Lung and Kaiser? Not one you have much faith in. Tattletale herself named Lung as one of her 'crazies', and she still thinks he'd be amenable to keeping the status quo?

With people like them in charge, you can't help but wonder if a gang war is all but inevitable anyway, no matter what anyone does or doesn't do.

"So what's the whole point of this?" you taunt, waving a hand to encompass the rooftop. "Trying to convince me that I need to treat this all like a stupid game like you do and not worry about all the people who are getting hurt in the meantime?"

She scoffs. "Like you'd care. No, the whole point of this is that when you turn this city into ground zero, I want to be far, far away from here. But I can't do that while Coil is still around."

"Worried that he won't give you a good recommendation when your next boss calls for a character reference?"

"He gave me his 'recruitment pitch' while one of his thugs held a gun to my head," replies Tattletale in a flat voice. "He knew my name and everything about me. He has moles in the PRT. As long as he can have me killed like he's ordering a pizza, I can't get away. But since you're already taking this _'Warrior for Love and Justice'_ thing to an unhealthy extreme and you claim that you want to rid the city of all its villains…." She cocks her head. "Help get me out from under his thumb, where he can't just tug on my leash or send somebody to put a bullet in my head, and this villain will disappear so fast you'll think I'm a teleporter.

"What do you say? Want to stop a _real_ monster before he establishes himself in this city the way the Empire and the ABB have?"

* * *

 **What's this, a Tattletale who _isn't_ immediately Taylor's best bud? :) I like Lisa for the most part, but she'll be either a good friend or an incredibly irritating opponent. I don't think she has a middle ground.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	15. First Impact 2-6

**WillItWork:** There is indeed art on the forums. There's an image of Taylor's Barrier Jacket as well as one of Perfect Storm's staff form, and in the chapters themselves there are images of her casting triangle and the ritual circle used for Samantha's creation.

 **This chapter deserves a reminder that I am technically not writing this story, I'm just the GM for it. Why it deserves a reminder is that I gave the players a couple of options on how to respond to Tattletale, but they decided to go for a player-written option, which I generally let them do. That option just so happened to lead to a response that could best be described as _maximum bitchiness_.**

* * *

 **First Impact 2.6**

If you're being totally honest, you are seriously tempted for a moment to tell Tattletale she can go fuck herself. She gives you definite Emma vibes, and you've had more than your fill of dealing with queen bitches. She can take her superior attitude somewhere else and choke on it.

But, thankfully, your common sense prevails in the end. If she is telling the truth, Coil is dangerous. Not necessarily more personally powerful than Lung, nor as numerous as the Empire, but still a villain with the end goal of ruling the city like some feudal warlord. He should really be an even higher priority at the moment just because it would be so much easier to remove him now than to wait until he is as entrenched as the other gangs. With the resources you have already figured out he has at his fingertips, delaying would be a massive mistake.

Of course, that is all based on a very big _if_. You have absolutely no reason to trust anything that Tattletale has just told you beyond the fact that she works for Coil, and even that is suspect. There are surely ways a parahuman could figure out what he said in that warehouse beyond him intentionally feeding her the information. You actually hope she is lying; the idea of another independent hero working alongside unpowered humans and striving to rip the gangs out of the city and who wants to be partners with the Privateers is almost too good to be true.

…But if something is too good to be true, it usually isn't.

Putting that flare of cynicism back into its mental cubbyhole, you turn to regard the villain. She is still looking at you with that haughty expression, as though she honestly thinks she can insult you to your face and you'll still jump to help her. A partnership with somebody like this is out of the question, but she is still Coil's enemy. She just needs to learn some humility if she expects people to care about her asking for help.

"I'll think about it," you tell her.

"Don't try to lie to a psychic. I already know you're going to help. Now, I was—"

"Did I ever say I would help _you_ , though? If Coil is bad for the city, that's one thing, but what he does to a little pissant like you? I could not give less of a shit. Besides, I need to check to see if anything you've told me is actually true. Maybe even ask him for his side of the story." Ah, _that_ gets through to her. "I might still take him down, but if it's only after he puts a bullet between your eyes? That'd just be a tragedy, wouldn't it?"

"You wouldn't do that."

"How can you be so sure?" you ask in a syrupy voice. "I mean, you did just say I'm a violent psychopath. If you're as right as you think you are, I should really have lashed out and blasted a hole straight through your chest, or at the very least burned your fucking tongue out. Your teammates probably would have sent me a thank-you card for that one."

"You think you could survive a fight with my whole team? Because that's what you're asking for."

You don't need to be 'psychic' – or even a true telepath, though it seems like Perfect Storm is insistent on turning you into one – to see the fear on her face and in her voice. She wants to bluff? You'll call her on it. "You said you work for Coil, but you're just asking for safety for yourself. You know in the course of arresting him, I'll have to deal with the Undersiders. You wouldn't be coming to me unless you knew I could smack them down."

"They don't know that we work for him," she admits, which is obviously a serious struggle for her to do. "I'm the go-between."

"And yet you didn't go to them for help." The picture is starting to become clearer. "Because you know that any fight with him, they'd lose, yet you still expect me to win. And you think threatening me with them is going to scare me?"

"Entirely different powers," Tattletale points out in an icy voice. "You? They'd have an easy time with."

"Just be careful that they don't…. How did you phrase it? Push me just a little too far? Because if you're right, it will send me over the edge and I'll wind up killing them all." From the pinched look on her face, she does not enjoy the taste of the foot in her mouth. "Tell me, Tattletale, just how much of that cops and robbers bullshit do you actually believe? Or is it just a pretty little lie you tell yourself so you can pretend you'll ever amount to anything besides being some bigger villain's ten-cent whore?"

"You'd know all about being fucked over at every turn, wouldn't you?"

You smile, really just a baring of your teeth, and send Samantha a mental command to return. You're done here. "Be careful," you warn as your Guardian Beast leaps down to the rooftop and pads silently towards you. "Keep digging into who I am, and I might just forget this little conversation ever happened and chuck you into a cell. I'm tempted enough to do it now, anyway, and I promise you that I most certainly will if I ever see or hear you after he's done with. Get out of my city and never come back."

"It won't be that easy," she replies in a voice even more arrogant than she used before making her proposal. "One of the benefits of being me. You even think about coming after me, and I'd know it. You couldn't be subtle if your life depended on—"

A loud growl rumbles from right behind the villain, and she whirls around with a scream before falling onto her butt. That is a bad position to be in when dealing with Samantha's war form, and the monstrous raccoon is quick to prove why. Tattletale goggles silently at the large teeth only inches in front of her and the fetid breath that comes from a carnivorous diet.

"Oh, I think I could manage."

Wordless warning imparted, Samantha slinks past the blonde for a few feet before transforming into her human shape. "You say you're psychic? Then you should know when someone's lying or telling the truth." She looks over her shoulder. "If you attempt to hurt her, you will have to deal with me, and I am much nastier than she. She would be content throwing you in prison. I would gut you and leave you as a feast for the crows."

You flick a worried glance at the animal turned woman before returning your attention to Tattletale. That is not a conversation to have in front of an enemy, and despite being willing to deal with Coil, you will not forget that that is exactly what she is. "Go away, Tattletale. I will send you a message on PHO when he is dealt with."

The two of you watch the blonde villain walk to the fire escape and disappear over the edge, and then silence descends onto the rooftop. Finally, Samantha sighs. "That could have gone better."

"You can say that again."

"You really shouldn't have antagonized her like that."

" _I_ shouldn't have antagonized her?" you sputter in disbelief. "Ignoring for just a moment that you said you would _kill her_ , what was I supposed to do? Just let her walk all over me?"

"In a word? Yes." You stare at her with patent confusion. "What that was should have been obvious. It was a dominance display, her fluffing up her fur to make herself look larger and more dangerous. A display of power in front of a stronger party, but that was all it was. Mere illusion. You should have ignored it."

"Even when she started figuring out who Dad and I are?"

Samantha smiles coldly. "She knew some things about you, but it did not sound like enough for her to discover your name. And even if she did, what of it? What could she do with the information? Using it to pressure you into anything would be suicide. From what I could determine, her abilities are almost guaranteed to be purely investigative. She has no defenses that would withstand your attacks, and the possibility that she could produce a weapon in short order that could pierce your Barrier Jacket, let alone your shield, is so low as to be laughable. Your combat ability is the entire reason she sought you out. If she made any threats, you would snap her in half, and she knew it. Nor would she pass that information to someone else. The parahumans, at least those in Brockton Bay, who are powerful enough to be a danger to you are also those she derided as 'crazies', and her own philosophy would undoubtedly prevent her from reaching out to them. Even if she did, when you survived the attack, who would be your first suspect for being the source of that information? She has nothing to gain and everything to lose should she try to attack you, directly or indirectly, in or out of costume."

"Then why do it at all?!"

"Because she is just like you in that respect. An impulsive, short-sighted adolescent." Your Guardian Beast shrugs. "And that might be the core of her personality, too. Arrogant, egotistical, insistent on having the upper hand at all times even to the detriment of her long-term goals."

You scowl at the rebuke. She… might have a point. "If I should have ignored her, then why did you threaten her?"

"Because you called her out on her weakness. You wounded her pride, and if she is that arrogant, she is undoubtedly a sore loser. I simply made sure she knows _exactly_ what the consequences of salving that injury would be."

"And that's another thing. We're heroes, Samantha, and more, we're good people. Killing should be the last resort."

"You are a good person, sweetie," she corrects gently. "I am a good Guardian Beast. _'Your purpose'_ ," she suddenly recites, " _'to defend me and my allies, to destroy my foes, to support me in my purpose'_. The terms of our contract are clear. It is my duty and my joy to do whatever is necessary to protect you."

The weight her voice lends to those words startles you. You barely remember the exact phrasing of the contract the ritual required, but she quoted it as if it were the most important thing in the world. She says it is a joy to do this, you wonder, but is it really? Or did you create a thinking, feeling being only to enslave her in the most complete way possible? Her declaration of devotion sounds too much like a clip you once heard from one of Heartbreaker's victims for your liking.

 _«You're broadcasting,»_ you hear in your head. Samantha laughs softly at your surprise and reaches up to lay her hand on your cheek. "And you say you're no good at telepathy. I'm touched that you're so concerned about forcing me into this, but you don't need to be. I could have refused the contract had I wished. I _chose_ to accept it."

That is good enough, you suppose.

 _«Verification of information obtained from target Tattletale can begin at any time,»_ Perfect Storm tells you. _«I require only the command from Mistress.»_

Samantha laughs again. "See? It's not just me. We're both eager to help." Pulling you into an unexpected embrace, she whispers, "You don't have to do anything alone again, Taylor. We're here for you, and we will _never_ walk away. You're stuck with us."

You hug her back, doing your best not to cry. _Thank you. I love you, too._

* * *

 **Yeah. Uh, the players burned absolutely any potential bridges with Tattletale and the Undersiders in this chapter.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	16. First Impact 2-7

**First Impact 2.7**

 **Tuesday, February 16  
** _"Miss Militia here."_

 _«Hey, Miss Militia_ ,» you project to Perfect Storm. You had not known that among all the other things it can do, you Device could also tap into the cellular phone network, but apparently it can. « _I'm about a minute out from the Rig. I have another teammate I need to sign up with you.»_

 _"Samantha, right?"_

 _«How did you…?»_

The older heroine laughs. _"Vista. She could not stop talking about your teammate. It got to the point we were worried she was going to run to Austin and demand a pair of ears from Bonesaw."_

You blink in surprise. Bonesaw was once a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine, a villain group that committed such atrocities that even joining was considered reason enough to be slapped with a kill order. They had spread terror and death for over twenty years until they made the mistake in early 2010 of visiting Los Robados, a small town in Texas that also happened to be the home of a previously unknown cape now named Breakdown. Breakdown took offense at their presence and went on a one-man rampage. Details were sparse, but what was known was that he slew them all one by one, somehow managing to kill even the all-but-indestructible Crawler and Siberian. Only Bonesaw was spared on account of her age, and during her trial, her story about the Nine's attack on her home when she was six years old garnered her enough sympathy that she was remanded into Protectorate custody until she turned eighteen, at which time the final decision about what to do with her would be made.

Personally, you think the jury agreed to that because none of them wanted to be the one who made the decision if she was a monster in her own right or yet another of Jack Slash's victims, and you can't exactly blame them for taking the easy way out. You are not sure what you would have done in their shoes, either.

« _I thought she was kept under house arrest or something.»_

 _"She is, but we let her out during Endbringers attacks and natural disasters to assist the medical teams, or when the Texas team has extraordinary injuries. She's supervised at all times, obviously, but she_ is _the world's greatest biotinker, and it seems appropriate that her skills are used to help people for a change. Her psychiatrist encourages it, actually. It's his hope that with socialization, she could be rehabilitated."_

The helipad comes into view, and you tell her, « _We're here. Just please tell the guys on the roof not to point the spray guns at me for his time.»_

 _"Will do! I'll be there in a minute."_

The PRT agents give you and Samantha suspicious glances when you touch down, but there is none of the aggression you had to deal with on your first trip out here. Clearly filling out that form for yourself and your dad was the right decision, even if you were a little vague on his abilities. Only a few seconds pass before one of them raises a hand to his ear and nods. "Miss Militia says you can go in. Wait for her in the same meeting room you used previously. Is that understood?"

"Sure." You look down at your Device while walking through the door. _You remember where that was?_

It chimes quietly, and a wireframe map pops up in the top left corner of your vision. "It shouldn't take very long to do this. We can probably fill everything out while we're here." At the same time, you look down at Perfect Storm. « _Do it.»_

 _«Orders confirmed. Beginning analysis.»_

It is probably rude to tell Perfect Storm to test the Protectorate's cyber security, but if you're going to go after Coil, you want to be sure you're doing the right thing. So far, what your Device has found on the Internet supports Tattletale's version of events, but you also remember what he said about the PRT actively trying to make him sound like a villain. If Perfect Storm can grab their files on him with a minimum of risk, you will know for certain whether the crimes he has been accused of are really his doing or if it is all just a smokescreen.

The meeting room looks much the same as it did last time, and you and Samantha sit down to wait. You are not left alone for long; Miss Militia pokes her head in and then enters fully, a sheaf of papers in her left hand. "Calamity, nice to see you again. I had hoped to catch up with you the times we went out to secure the Merchants your team captured, but we seem to constantly miss each other."

You shake her proffered hand while wondering just how often she has gone out expecting to find you. That, and how many spots have the guys hit so far? Maybe keeping yourself separate from the team so much was a bad idea. "Sorry about that. I haven't given the team much help directly recently. I've had a few other things on my plate." Recalling the concerned warnings the heroine gave you the last time you spoke, you ask, "There haven't been any problems, have there?"

"Only Director Piggot's general displeasure with a team of normals operating in the area, but that was to be expected once you told us what Captain's power is." She shrugs and pulls out a chair for herself. "Power-granting capes are always a headache like that. We finally rated the team as a whole as Thinker 0 for expediency, which technically puts the Privateers under the Protectorate's authority and should keep anyone from looking too closely unless something serious happens."

That was good news, and not just because it resolves what could have become a major point of friction. It also means your dad has stuck to his promise to use equal rather than excessive force. If the Privateers were going overboard, you are sure Miss Militia would have mentioned it.

"And you must be Samantha," the patriotic hero says to your Guardian Beast. "It shouldn't come as a surprise, but you already have a fan."

Samantha smiles. "Vista is a cutie. And I have to compliment Kid Win, too; I was impressed by his competence against Rune."

"It's a difficult balancing act, training them to be effective in the field without taking away their chance to be kids, but I like to think we have a handle on it. Samantha, I understand you don't intend to have an alternate identity?"

"I would have a hard time blending in with this, don't you think?" The uplifted raccoon brushes the striped tail laying across her lap.

Miss Militia frowns lightly and twirls the pen in her hand. "Do you remember anything from before you gained your powers?"

You and Samantha share a confused glance. That was not something she asked you. "That seems a very specific question," your Guardian Beast responds slowly.

"That's because it is. Have either of you ever heard of Case 53s?" You shake your head, as does Samantha. "You, Calamity, might recognize them by their colloquial description of 'monstrous capes'. They are parahumans who have significant and obvious deviations in their appearance and lose all memories of their lives before their trigger events. I need to know because most Case 53s have special needs that can be difficult to accommodate, and we offer support groups and services to help you adjust to your new life and search for your previous identity."

 _«Mistress,»_ Perfect Storm interrupts, _«passive scan is complete. No easily accessible files found. Protectorate servers have multiple levels of both passive and active countermeasures. Defenses will not inhibit me, but my search will be noticed. Avoiding defenses may be possible, but it will require additional time. What does Mistress desire?»_

"Calamity?" You look up to find Miss Militia looking at you worriedly. "Is everything all right?"

* * *

 ** _Not_ what I would have chosen to do, but the players decided now would be a great time to convince the alien super-AI to hack into the PRT's database. *shakes head* Those guys sometimes, I swear…**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	17. First Impact 2-8

**Z.R. Stein:** Breakdown is an OC, yes. One of the reasons I made him was, as you guessed, to avoid an S9 arc. I've read enough Worm fics to have an idea for how difficult that arc is to write well, and it's gotten to the point that they're just more boring than anything else. The _other_ reason, and honestly the larger one, is that Breakdown was a bit of foreshadowing I was dropping for the players to pick up on for later. They didn't cooperate, but I made do in the end.

* * *

 **First Impact 2.8**

Crap. Thinking quickly, you say, "No, I'm good. I mean, yes, everything's fine. I was just caught up thinking about something else. Sorry. You were asking about Samantha being one of these Case 53s, right?"

Miss Militia nods.

The temptation to lie is strong. Answering 'yes' would satisfy their curiosity and should not prompt many other questions. But this is _Miss Militia_. Not only is she a hero, but in both your interactions with her so far, she's been upfront and honest with you. Taking advantage of her trust and pulling the wool over her eyes seems a poor way to repay her. That said, the full truth is likely not a good idea, either, not with capes like Nilbog and Blasto and the aforementioned Bonesaw running around. Villains who can create life are feared for good reason, and though you are a hero, you know there are people who are scared of any cape who can do something like that.

The best option is to go with a half-truth.

"We don't think she is. I mean, she hasn't had any problems that we've noticed, and aside from the ears and tail, she is totally normal, and…." Running out of things to say, you look to the sapient raccoon. _Help?_

Samantha takes pity on you and turns to the older hero. "A Case 53 has no memory of her former life, correct? Then that label does not apply to me. I do not remember much of my existence before this, but I do remember some. Sounds and smells, flashes of insight about how I would have done something before and how it is different to what I do now. A few other things, as well, but, and please do not take this the wrong way—"

"But it's personal, and you don't know me."

"Indeed." The raccoon and the hero share sad smiles before the former continues, "I have only heard good things about you from Calamity Witch, and I would like to know you well enough to trust you with this, but for now? I do not feel comfortable doing so."

"Perfectly understandable," Miss Militia agrees. "If there is anything I can do to help you get back on your feet…?"

You and your Guardian Beast glance at each other, and you again take point. "Is there some way we could get a driver's license or something for her? She can't have a secret identity, obviously, but in case she wants to go somewhere or do something and they want proof that she is who she says she is."

"It's not impossible. We have forms we use to create new legal identities for Case 53s." Miss Militia leans back in her chair. "Since you don't think she technically is one, I would need to justify it, but the circumstances are so similar that it shouldn't be a problem. You would just have to come back some other time after I receive the Director's authorization. There are some psychological tests involved, but they're just so we can determine your mental age and put down an approximate birth year. The whole process should only take a couple of hours."

"I can take care of that while you're studying," Samantha tells you.

"What about her date of birth?" you ask. Miss Militia did say that there were services in place for Case 53s, and while they are not of immediate importance, you cannot help but find yourself interested in the intricacies.

"We use the date of their earliest memory. Unless what day you were born happens to be one of the things you remember?" Samantha shakes her head, and the heroine sighs. "Worth a shot."

While Samantha and Miss Militia engross themselves in the paperwork to register your Guardian Beast as an independent hero, you return your attention to your patiently waiting Intelligent Device. « _You said you won't get caught if you try hacking their system?»_

 _«The likelihood is minimal.»_

Minimal is not the same as none, and the thoughts about repaying Miss Militia's generosity return to the front of your mind. « _Is there anything you can do that doesn't pose any risk of them catching you? Particularly anything that's as non-invasive as possible?»_

 _«Investigating.»_ Perfect Storm is quiet for a moment. « _Incoming and outgoing communications are monitored less. Defenses can be disabled without compromise of secrecy.»_

 _«Do that, then. Focus only on messages that talk about Coil, mercenaries, or lasers, or on messages that look like they might be from his moles. There's no reason to read through all their mail.»_

 _«Probability of success is lower than for active infiltration.»_

You roll your eyes. « _I get that, but I really don't want you to risk it. Besides, they're our allies. Let's not make enemies out of them. While you're listening in, poke around the Net some more. See if you can find any new information on him or anything you missed the first time around.»_

 _«Whatever Mistress desires.»_

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

 **Friday, February 18  
** Dozens of holographic screens float in front of you, each displaying a source of information regarding Coil's activities and clustered together based on crime. Drug sales. Extortion. Bribery. Murder for hire.

"You've verified all of these?"

« _Correct.»_

You sigh loudly and mutter, "Fantastic. He's just as bad as Kaiser, and we jumped at the chance to work with him."

A weight settles on your shoulder, and you glance out the corner of your eye to find that it is Samantha's head. "You didn't know. He talked a good talk, and it was possible that the PRT got overzealous and classified him as a villain when he really wasn't. Velocity made that assumption when you first met him, too, remember?

"But it isn't what mistakes you made then that matter. That's in the past, no changing it. What matters is what we're going to do."

"We're going to do exactly what we should have done the first time." A mental command makes the screens vanish. "We're going to break him and haul him to the Protectorate."

"All right," she says. "How? The two of us can probably take out the mercenaries he brought with him to the exchange, but how many more does he have that we don't know about? There's no reason not to gather as many allies as we can."

« _Raise an army before waging war,»_ Perfect Storm agrees.

"None of the emails tell us anything about who his moles are. If we try to pull in the whole Protectorate, there's the chance that one of them will tip him off," you say.

"No, but we might be able to get a couple to help without the moles finding out."

"And we still don't know where he is."

Samantha reaches over to pat your head. "So we need to find him. We need allies, or at least we can use them. And once we have those, we need a plan of attack. A lot to do, but it _is_ doable, and the faster we move, the better our chances of success."

You nod, a smile forming. Broken down like that, it looks much less daunting than it first did. "You're right, it is doable. And I think I have some ideas already."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	18. First Impact 2-9

**At the end of the previous chapter, I originally offered the players a vote concerning how they wanted to go about taking out Coil. I don't know if it was a miscommunication or him being such a major role in the original story along with fanfics or what, but they decided they needed to be cautious when dealing with the snake in the grass. Which… Well, in hindsight I think they would agree that it was a bad decision.**

* * *

 **First Impact 2.9**

"Of course," you continue, your enthusiasm ebbing away slightly as the immensity of the task reasserts itself in your mind, "those ideas won't do much unless we can actually get to him. From what the PRT knows – or what they're willing to release on PHO, to be more accurate – Coil is a small fry. He is involved in a number of crimes, but not to the extent of the Empire and the ABB. And yet, he can afford to hire mercenaries and Tinkertech? How big is his organization, really?"

"You think we need to move cautiously, then."

You turn to look at Samantha. "Don't you think we need to be careful?"

"Yes, but there is a time for caution and a time for action." The Guardian Beast frowns. "But, in the interest of fairness, combat is what my body and magic were quite literally designed for. I might be more biased towards physical confrontations than I realize." Shaking her head, she says, "I go where you lead. If you think we need to move slowly and carefully, that is what we shall do."

That display of complete trust is jarring, and it takes you a moment to regain your equilibrium. You have never had anyone who would follow you like this before, and now you have Samantha and Perfect Storm and even the Privateers. Once more, you decide that the day you found your Intelligent Device is without a doubt the happiest in your life. "Okay. Let's start with the mercenaries. They have to come from _somewhere_ , and if we can find how he's recruiting them, it should give us a hint of where they're going and maybe how many of them there are. Storm, do you think you could figure any of that out?"

« _There are numerous sites on the Internet that are not immediately available. Many of them are involved with the sale and purchase of illegal items or services. Discovery of which the target frequents will be time-consuming but not overly difficult.»_

"Excellent. While you're at it, maybe look for large sums of money moving into Brockton Bay. He's paying them somehow, and I don't think his criminal enterprises would bring in enough to keep all of them employed. Not unless he's hitting some of the gangs like the Privateers are," you add almost to yourself. "I'm not giving you too much to do, am I?"

« _A list is being prepared.»_

"The Tinkertech." You glance at your animal partner. She furrows her eyebrows and slowly nods. "Coil said they don't need a whole lot of maintenance but that they do need power cells, which he has to buy from the same Tinker he got the guns from. Pyrotechnical, that's the name. Maybe he has a website you could break into and look for shipping manifests?"

"It would probably be less defended than the Protectorate was."

"That's almost a given."

"Since he is conducting crime, he or his men have to get there. Maybe you could look up any security videos they have saved to the web and see if you can find license plate numbers." An idea sparks, and your eyes widen. "Oh, and if you do, let me know. We might be able to follow them. They might not lead us directly to Coil's base, but it should give us a rough idea of where it is."

Samantha shakes her head. "Why go through all that trouble when we have his phone number? Or Danny does, at least. We can just ask him for it."

"That would mean telling him about Coil being a villain, though."

One grey eyebrow rises. "Weren't you going to do that anyway? If you're looking for allies, _your own team_ sounds like the obvious place to start."

"I will, I will. Just… not yet." Her skeptical look remains, and after a moment you look away. "He seems happier, don't you think? The Privateers are cleaning up the Docks, the Merchants have lost a ton of money, none of the dockworkers have to worry about when the next payday is going to be, not when we're so flushed with cash…. If I tell him about Coil, that happiness is going to be over, and I know he'll blame himself for not realizing that we were being played. When we actually move against Coil, I'll tell him, promise. Just not right now."

"While I'm sure he'd appreciate your concern for his happiness, I think he'd like it even more if you treated him like a responsible adult."

That rebuke stings, which you suppose is the point. The front door opening prevents anyone from saying anything, and you walk out of the living room to greet your dad as he comes inside. "How'd things go today?"

"So so." He shucks off the heavy rain coat and hangs it up in the hallway to dry. "That depot I told you about? Mush was guarding it today. We settled in to watch for a little longer, and now it's pretty clear that it's a major distribution hub. We'll have to be clever about when we make a move, but if we can capture it, that should take out a huge chunk of their finances, and we'll be able to destroy what David expects is literally hundreds of pounds of drugs. The only downside is that it will piss the Merchants off something fierce."

"Do you think you'll need to use the laser?"

"…I hope not." You narrow your eyes at the hesitant tone of his voice, and he notices. "Carl trained some of the guys on how to use it, but the lower the setting, the more temperamental it is. For it to be dependable, the beam has to be set high enough to burn through somebody."

"A bullet can be just as lethal, can't it?"

"Yes, if it hits the right place. Shoot somebody in the leg, and they won't be able to walk, but unless they bleed out, they won't die from it. After he used it on a pig he bought, Carl said that a big area around the hole was burned, too. When the total area you damage is the size of a football rather than a little bullet hole, you have to be a lot more careful aiming. That takes time, and that time could be the difference between one Merchant getting hurt and one of us getting hurt and the rest of the thugs thinking they can pull the same trick."

"Can you call Coil? Maybe he has some advice on how to make it less lethal," you suggest in a forcefully neutral voice. You just had a wonderful idea. « _Can you trace Dad's call? Maybe even record Coil's voice? If we can identify who he really is, that gives another way to capture him.»_

 _«It will be done.»_

 _«This is a bad idea.»_ You look over to find Samantha shaking her head. « _If you push him into greater contact with Coil, it's only going to make things worse when he finds out what you're planning.»_

Your dad's unhappy groan interrupts your building argument. "I suppose you're right. I just don't like talking to him. I know he's a lot like us, but…. There's just something off-putting about him. I can't put my finger on it, but he gives me the creeps." He shakes his head and walks into the kitchen.

Well, now you feel even guiltier about encouraging his relationship with Coil. You especially don't need the 'I told you so' expression on Samantha's face. « _How long do think it will take you to handle everything we talked about?_ »

Your Device buzzes quietly. « _Time for completion unknown. Current estimate: seven to ten days minimum.»_

"That's nothing we need to worry about right now, though," your dad calls back to you. "Calling him can wait till Monday. I thought we could make some burgers tonight, maybe rent a movie. Not how most teenagers want to spend a Friday night, I'm sure, and if you have other plans—"

"No, Dad. That… That sounds great."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	19. First Impact 2-10

**The players made a couple of bad decisions last time. I hinted at them strongly enough that they fixed one of them in the next update (this one). Just in case you started wondering at the sudden reversal of strategy below.**

* * *

 **First Impact 2.10**

 **Monday, February 21  
** The front door barely has time to close before you are in the hall. "Dad, we need to talk."

He is understandably startled by your sudden declaration, and he follows you back into the kitchen. "Okay, I'm listening," he says, pulling out a chair. "What do we need to talk about?"

"Well…. Um…." And you had a speech all planned out, too! "You see…. It's about Coil. He isn't a hero at all. He really is a villain."

Your father sighs and rubs his face with one hand. "I wish I could say that surprises me more than it does. And we were so eager for his help that we jumped into bed with him as soon as he made an offer." Looking up, he asks, "You're _sure_ about this? No doubts whatsoever?"

"I had Perfect Storm look into it. He's involved in several criminal enterprises, both here and out of town."

" _Distribution of illicit substances. Bribery. Contractual killing. Additional income is the result of involvement with various illegal gambling venues in other locations such as canine combat circuits, stock market manipulation, pre-arranged athletic competitions—"_

"You get the picture," you cut in. "About the only way it seems like he _isn't_ making money is off us. That laser rifle he sold us costs between ten and twelve thousand dollars a pop buying them from Pyrotechnical directly."

"Damn it." It takes a moment, but the pinched expression on his face shifts to a confused one. "When did you find out all of this? I mean, it sounds like you know quite a bit about what he's up to, but what made you start looking in the first place?"

You had hoped he wouldn't ask that, and now you have a choice to make. It is tempting to lie your way out of this, tell him that you started digging shortly after the meeting with Coil or something, but it is lies that got you into the mess. Lies of omission, admittedly, but still lies. It was lies that worsened the gulf between you that you are only starting to repair, too. _'I'm fine'_ , _'I can take care of it'_ , _'It's okay that you're always gone'_.

You are done lying to your dad, you decide. All lying to him has done is cause the both of you more pain than either of you deserved.

"A villain named Tattletale contacted me on PHO the same day as our meeting. She and the rest of the Undersiders work for him, but her he hired basically at gunpoint, and she wants me to take him down." You shrug. "It took me a while to verify what she told me."

He gives you a small smile and a good-natured chuckle. "And you didn't believe her until you proved her right. It's a good thing I didn't think to call him today until I was already on my way home. Getting even closer to him under the assumption that he was who he said he was? That would have been egg on both our faces."

"Yeah, about that. I… kinda already knew he was a villain when I told you to call him."

"You knew all this _before_ you told me to call him."

You wince at the flat delivery. That is not a good sign. Your father has a temper, and though he has never directed it at you, you still have seen him blow up a few times. It wasn't pretty. "Yes."

"Taylor, just…." He shakes his head. "You're the one who suggested I call him. You're the one who practically encouraged me to tie us even tighter to him. And you did all that even though you knew he is exactly the kind of person we formed the Privateers to _fight_ ? Why?!"

"Perfect Storm could trace the call to find out where his lair is, but I was worried ifyou knew before talking to him, he would have realized that something was up. And," you add quietly, "you seemed happy to have a partner, someone else you could count on for help. I didn't want to take that away until I had to."

"So instead of being angry that I was played like a fiddle by a supervillain, I get to be _furious_ that I was played by a supervillain and _my own daughter_. Yes, that definitely sounds like the better option!"

"I made a mistake! I get that! But I was just trying to protect you!"

"I'm a grown man, Taylor. I don't need to be protected from my own mistakes. And I definitely don't need or want to be pushed even deeper into them!" he shouts back. "What were you going to do if, after being encouraged to associate with Coil, I sent the guys on a job that wound up breaking the law? If we became criminals on your advice? How would you have protected—"

Clamping his jaw shut, he closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths. You can practically see him count to ten in his head, though from how long it takes him, fifty is probably a more accurate number. When he opens his eyes again, the anger has been banked. Not extinguished, only hidden. "Just, go to your room."

"Dad, I—"

"Go. To. Your room."

Unwilling to push back, not when you were legitimately in the wrong, you silently leave the kitchen and walk up the stairs.

That could have gone better.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx** [/center]

 **Tuesday, February 22**

Partly in deference to your unofficial grounding – which, unknown to your father, was enforced by your traitorous Guardian Beast – and partly because you are still nervous about tangling with a flying artillery cape with a decade's worth of practice under her belt, you wait until the next night before you go looking for Purity.

As you fly downtown, you mentally review what you know about your current quarry. A powerful Blaster, Purity shoots lasers that do an incredibly amount of damage to whatever it is they hit. You've seen video clips from several years earlier of her demolishing a building with a single massive blow, and despite the protection you receive from your Barrier Jacket, you really don't want to try taking one of those hits on the chin. Even if you cast Strong Shield, you are still likely to be knocked out at the very least. You have magic bullets that curve around and follow their targets, but while she is not as flexible in her abilities as you are, she is far stronger, and only a fool would assume that the difference in experience won't tilt things in her favor.

Defense you aren't quite so sure about. On the one hand, her thread on PHO, her page on the wiki, and the myriad of sources Perfect Storm dug into showed no hint that she has any protective abilities, so it's entirely possible that one well-placed Flare Shooter could be the end of the fight. On the other, she has made the ABB her primary target, and between a teleporting suicide bomber and an ever-strengthening rage dragon who can throw fireballs, it isn't as if she has an unbeatable range advantage. Yet somehow, she has reportedly sent Oni Lee packing once and even fought Lung to a standstill for several minutes three different times before either the Protectorate arrived, his goal became impossible, or something else happened that no one besides the two of them know about.

The people discussing those fights saw them from a safe distance, and while you cannot blame them for that sensible decision, it does not yield much in the way of actionable intel.

Regardless of what exactly took place during that fight, the fact remains that she has survived fights with cold-blooded killers who have ways of hitting her back, so clearly she has _some_ way of defending herself. If it isn't some natural toughness like Glory Girl's or a forcefield like yours, then maybe she has some other power that makes her impossible to hurt, like how Legend can turn himself into light. The worst-case scenario is that it is pure skill, because that means your chances of winning any confrontation with her are falling fast—

An eye-searing beam of white light catches your attention, and taking a fortifying breath, you and Samantha zip in that direction. You stay low to the rooftops, your dark outfits letting you blend in with the unlit rooftops. It also lets you search for whomever Purity is shooting with your mask's night vision mode.

Green and red bandanas hanging from their necks and arms. Asian facial structures. And that guy just pulled out a gun and is shooting back at their attacker. Looks like you found some ABB grunts.

Three Flare Shooters form in front of you and speed towards the gang members, and all of them collapse. You learned from your mistake with the E88 thugs: pack a little more power into the bullets than you had, and whomever you shoot with them will stay down longer. Unfortunately, that little light show highlighted your position, and their original pursuer cruises down to your level. A Flare Shooter forms in your left hand, your right tightening around Perfect Storm's shaft.

"Thank you," the Nazi powerhouse says in a voice of total sincerity. "I've been chasing them for the last ten minutes. I thought once their car was totaled, they would stop, but as you can see, that wasn't the case."

Well, that's a surprise. Of all the things you thought would happen, a villain thanking you was nowhere on that list. You can't see if her expression mirrors the emotion of her words since she is too bright to look at— And as if commanded by your thought, which is far from an impossibility, your vision distorts, darkening and brightening at random, until both your opponent and the rest of the night are equally visible.

Rather than the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Aryan ideal you are half-expecting, the glowing woman floating in front of you is actually rather plain-looking, unremarkable brown hair and eyes set in a cute but by no means beautiful face. She looks more like some random soccer mom than the second or third most powerful cape the Empire has in their ranks. She also isn't wearing a mask, which you suppose would be unnecessary if no one else can look directly at her without going blind.

"You're welcome?" you finally reply, still not sure just what you should say in a situation like that. "I can't let you kill them."

Purity's shoulders slump. "I wasn't going to kill them," she says. Her entire body, from her voice to her posture, radiates resignation. "I wasn't even going to hurt them. All I was going to do was knock them out and call the police to come pick them up."

"Really."

"Yes, really. You can put the fireball away. I don't want to fight another hero tonight."

Another hero. Now that is an interesting turn of phrase. It could mean that she's referring to a fight she's already had, but it is still early, so she would have had to had this fight basically right at sunset. Not to mention, her tone does not sound especially threatening. But the next explanation you think of makes even less sense. "What do you mean, another hero?" you finally ask.

If you thought she was unhappy before, it is nothing compared to now. "I left the villain life over a year ago. I've been working as a hero ever since. I'm on your side."

"You are?" you ask with raised eyebrows. Chancing a look over at Samantha to see what she thinks of all this, you find her floating beside and just behind you with her eyes narrowed to slits. Apparently the forcefield she has from being your Guardian Beast does not come with adjustable night vision. "Then why haven't you told anyone?"

"I have been. You can thank the PRT and New Wave"—that name she spits out with significant venom—"for making sure no one believes me."

There's not much you can say to that. She did spend ten years with the Empire; anyone would doubt her when they hear that she is a hero now. You still have your own reservations, and you heard it from her own mouth!

But if she's being honest? If she really has turned away from the Empire and is interested in helping people for a change? That is a major coup for the good guys. _If_ she can be believed. "If you want to change people's minds about you, why are you targeting the ABB and not the Empire? As it is, everyone still thinks you're a Nazi."

"Attack the gang that knows what I look like, where I live, what my weaknesses are?" she asks in a dry voice. "That is reason enough to leave them alone all by itself. Besides, the Empire commits crime, but they still aren't as bad as the ABB." Your doubt must be visible on your face, because she continues, "I know the ins and outs of their organization, so I can tell you for a fact that they don't ambush people in cars and mutilate them or kidnap girls to sell as sex slaves. They're criminals, but at least they're civilized about it, which is more than I can say about the ch— about the ABB. After they're gone, _then_ —"

Whatever she intends for the future is cut off when a man wearing a leering red demon mask appears in front of you without warning. And then he blows up.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	20. First Impact 2-11

**First Impact 2.11**

The blast feels like a sledgehammer wielded by an angry giant slamming into you, and you are flung backwards uncontrollably until you smash into and almost through a brick wall.

" _Ow_."

You try little movements to see just how badly you're injured. You did not feel this bad after Squealer shot you with her tank, but that was getting shot. This is the first time you've had a grenade go off in your face. On the plus side, it seems that other than being incredibly sore, you aren't too terribly hurt. Chalk another one up for the awesomeness that is the Barrier Jacket.

Looking out from the divot your body made, you scowl. Several more of the masked bomber have appeared, and even with pure white beams of light tearing them apart, they are still popping up faster than Purity can put them down. Each one has a bandolier full of grenades, and to make things worse, the pins are apparently tied together in some way that lets Oni Lee pull them all out with one motion and blow up all his grenades in a single explosion. That strategy would be wasteful in the extreme were it not for the fact that each time he teleported, he left behind another fully loaded clone.

Yet another Oni Lee appears, but this one is right in front of you. He reaches for his pins.

A hand, glowing silver like light off a pool of mercury, shoves itself through the cape's chest. Oni Lee barely has time to glance down before he bursts into a cloud of ash. "This villain," Samantha growls, "is starting to get on my nerves."

"No kidding." You grab her offered hand and let her pull you out of the Taylor-shaped hole. A short distance away, a wide beam from the allegedly former Nazi spirals down to obliterate a building, along with the four or five suicide bombers who had been standing on top of it. "The cloning is bad enough on its own. Throwing in teleportation is just adding insult to injury." You gasp and press your left hand against your right side from where a sudden jab of pain just came. You don't know for sure, but you'd put down money that the explosion had cracked a couple of ribs. "Literally, in this case."

"I'll cover you. My Inherent Forcefield is tougher than your Barrier Jacket."

You shake your head. "That won't solve anything. We need to take Lee down and fast. You can teleport!" you say as you realize the obvious. "You can keep up with him."

"Unlikely. I did some research into other teleporters shortly after you created me," the Guardian Beast explains. "Oni Lee is only limited by line of sight, and while no one knows exactly how long he needs to wait between teleports, it sounds like he needs about a second. I need twice that long. By the time I reach him, he will have already moved to a new position. I would need to know where he is as soon as he gets there to even have a chance of reaching him before he's gone again."

That does sound more difficult. Samantha would need some kind of high-tech tracking system, but even with Perfect Storm's hacking abilities, it isn't that kind of—

Wait. Real-time tracking and locating. There's a spell for that.

"Keep him off me for a little. I have something I want to try." A nod is all you get from your ally, but you are already focusing on the code sprawling out across your mind's eye. You've only used this spell a couple of times, and that was inside your Device's simulator immediately after you learned it, but now is no time for playing it safe. A bubbling sphere swells into existence at the end of your staff, larger than your Flare Shots and red rather than orange. "Here goes nothing. Wide Area Search!"

The orb shudders for just a moment before it explodes, and hundreds of sparks the size of your thumbnail streak off like cinnabar comets. A blank screen appears off to your left side; still inside your field of vision, but not so much that Oni Lee can sneak up on you from your blindspot.

…Okay, he still _can_ , but no easier than he could before now. Fucking teleporters.

The next twenty seconds are the longest of your life, but Samantha only has to kill five more attacking clones before a faint ding rings in your ears. The screen comes to life, showing you everything within a six block radius. A shadow of a thought, and the dots representing you, Samantha, and Purity are green. A swarm of red dots appear when you select Oni Lee as your opponent. After a second, a new dot pops up, and you look over to find the ABB villain standing there.

"Gotcha."

"Keep him busy!" Samantha orders while your casting symbol appears below her. A flick of her hand conjures a copy of your search spell's screen to her side. "Make him focus on the bullets, and I'll see if I can catch him by surprise. If I hold the rest of the spell steady, I might be able to input the coordinates at the last second and get to him before he can copy himself again."

"Okay."

"And stay above the rooftops! You can fly; he can't. If he has to worry about falling, he'll be less likely to try that trick again now that you're expecting it."

" _Okay_ ! I got it!" Leaving your Guardian Beast to her task, you rise into the sky and head towards the latest dot on your screen. An idea springs to mind, and a quick change in the code turns all the other dots a darker red. The one you're chasing changes, too, as soon as a new bright red spot shows up. "I have you now. Flare Shooter!"

Twelve bullets, as many as you can easily handle at one time, fly ahead and suddenly swerve to the left, their homing properties tied to Wide Area Search leading them to the real Oni Lee. You stay on their tail, tilting left and right when they do and squeezing every last drop of speed you can find out of your flight spell just to keep up.

A blob of white light settles next to you. Purity's presence is greatly appreciated when a streak of light blasts a clone you had ignored into ash. "I don't know how you're tracking him, but keep doing it! I'll keep the clones off you!"

A clone that was left on one building taller than the rest jumps off and hits several of the bullets. A grunt is all that crosses your lips when you replace them; it seems like Oni Lee has finally figured out that your shots will just keep following him. The bullets swerve to race at a spot just above you, and your heart pounds for that brief moment before Purity's attack destroys that clone, too. Then it is her turn to be surprised when the bullets streak between you and her. Glancing back and forth between the bullets and you, she switches direction and mutters, "Neat trick."

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet." Dismissing half of the bullets, you fire behind you and command them to split up before chasing Oni Lee. He moves too fast for your first set of bullets to catch up, but if you can catch him in a pincer maneuver….

A light shines from the corner of your eye, and then a dot appears in that area of the map. Did Samantha just predict where the villain was headed?! You look over to find the last few motes of golden light solidifying into the form of your Guardian Beast with one hand over Oni Lee's eyes, and then she spears her hand through his chest again. "Tag. You're it."

He turns to ash yet again.

"Oh, come on!"

The brightest red dot winks again and again and again, but this time, it is moving in a straight line away from you. The distances between the dots gets longer, and after only a few seconds, the dot no longer reappears. Oni Lee is out of your range.

You sigh and dismiss the bullets and the search spell as the last visible clone crumbles away. "And I hoped we would get him, too." Turning to Purity, you are surprised to find her watching you somewhat apprehensively. Now that you think about it, you never nailed down just whether you believe her about being a hero; if she thinks you'll target her now, it would explain her caution. It would be crass in the extreme to turn on somewhat who just saved your life, though. She's done bad things in the past, no denying that, but you owe her the benefit of the doubt. "Thank you," you tell her, amused despite yourself at the confused blink she sends at you. "If it weren't for you, that probably would have ended badly."

A moment passes, her gaze evaluating you. "Since I was here first," she finally replies, a small smile metaphorically brightening her face, "I should be the one thanking you. Oni Lee is… difficult to fight, to say the least. The last time we fought, I could not keep up with him at all and only drove him off through blind luck. Well," she adds with a self-deprecating chuckle, "blind luck and destroying more than a few buildings. Thank goodness that block was condemned, or I would have been in trouble."

"More trouble," Samantha points out gently.

"…Yes. More trouble."

"About that," you begin. She looks at you in curiosity. "Maybe this doesn't have to be a one-time thing? My team—" Wait, bad idea. You don't know how your dad will react to you inviting an ex-Nazi onto the team, let alone all the other Privateers, but 'not well' is probably a good guess. "—Anyway, I could come out and patrol with you a few times if you wanted. The Protectorate knows I'm a hero, and if they see me working alongside you, they might believe you when you tell them that you turned over a new leaf."

This idea is half-baked at best, but you're running with it nonetheless. Thanks to Perfect Storm and Samantha, you know how powerful the simple fact of having someone who believes in you can be. You never would have done any of the things you've done since becoming a mage if you didn't have your Device backing you up. If she truly wants to leave her past behind and become a better person, she'll need all the support she can get.

Purity doesn't even think it over before she shakes her head. "Absolutely not."

"Why?"

She opens her mouth, then closes it with a conflicted expression. When she does speak, her voice is soft. "I didn't always work alone. Three months ago, I picked up a new cape. Disco, he called himself. He hated the ABB. They conscripted his brother, and when he refused to be a thug, they killed him and left his head on the doorstep with a note about death being better than dishonor or something. It didn't even matter to him that I used to be with the Empire; as soon as he found out I was going after them, he tagged along and refused to let me leave him behind." Her lips tremble. "He made me feel like I really could make it as a hero."

"What happened to him?" you ask just as quietly. From the past tense and the fact that you've never heard of Disco, you have a good guess, but you want to know for sure.

"Lung. Lung happened."

Oh.

"You're new, and you're already good," she continues. "Once you figure out all the things you can do with your powers, I can tell that you're going to be great. But that takes time, experience, and you won't get them if you die. Leave Lung, and Oni Lee, and the ABB alone. Focus on the Merchants. Hell, focus on the Empire. You're white, which means they'll be gentler with you. But don't get involved with this."

"I'm tougher than you are," you challenge.

"Maybe you are, but if we fought, I'd win. Never underestimate how much of an advantage experience can be. And I'm a cake walk compared to Lung. Unless you can prove to me that you'd survive against him, I don't want to see you around this part of town again." She drifts away, but then she turns back to you for just a moment. "There aren't many heroes who are willing to give me a chance. You've got a good heart, kid. Don't throw it away for someone who doesn't deserve it."

A streak of light is all that she leaves behind.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	21. First Impact 2-x

**First Impact 2.x**

 **Thursday, February 24  
** Those who were not part of the Protectorate would probably expect the Brockton Bay team's monthly debriefing to be an organized and staid affair. Patrol schedules projected onto multiple computer screens, contingency plans for the independents discussed and updated, Assault trying his best to behave himself for fear of Director Piggot's displeasure, everyone sitting stiffly upright while still in uniform.

Well, that last one was half right, Hannah supposed as she looked at the rest of her team, but they were still in their costumes only because they were waiting until they were done before they changed into their streets clothes and went home.

This was much later than normal for their debriefs. Normally they turned it into a working dinner, with some sort of takeout and a six-pack to split up amongst those who weren't on duty that night, but thanks to Skidmark and Mush lashing out late that afternoon after losing yet another drug depot to the Privateers, they had been forced to push it back until the wee hours of the morning. It made them all thankful for the late-night pizzeria sitting only a few blocks from the shoreline and Robin's superspeed.

"Hey, Hannah," Ethan called, his left arm around Stephanie's shoulders and his right hand occupied with his beer, "you still haven't mentioned anything about your new project."

"My new project?"

"Yeah, your independent hero friend. The Witch or something."

"You have been kinda tight-lipped about her," Benny agreed. He and Rory were the only ones not drinking, the latter because he was only eighteen and Dauntless because he was on call for any parahuman disasters occurring that night. "Who is she?"

Setting her slice of pepperoni pizza on her plate, she wiped the grease off her hands and started typing on the digital keyboard integrated into the table of their meeting room. Kid Win had emailed the video from his helmet to her, and she had downloaded the files… there. A few more clicks brought the wall-mounted monitor to life, and she loaded the first several clips onto the screen. "Calamity Witch. Blaster 6 to 7, Mover 5, Shaker 3. Possible Brute, at least from Robin's meeting with her"—Velocity nodded—"with rating estimated to be between 1 and 3. Part of the independent hero group named the Brockton Bay Privateers, though from what she's told me and our interactions with the group, it sounds more like it's a loose affiliation than actual membership."

"The Privateers is the group of enhanced normals that's had Piggot so riled up, right?" Stephanie asked.

"That's right. I'd estimate Calamity Witch's age to be in the seventeen to twenty range. Word choice indicates an educated household." And that was as far as she was going to go into personal information that could be used to find out her civilian identity. "Her specific powers, as you can see from the footage Chris recorded when she joined him and Missy on patrol, include fireballs that pursue specific targets, flight, and a forcefield of some kind. When Robin talked to her, she was bruised after defeating Squealer, and the remains of high-caliber cannons were found not far away, hence the potential Brute classification."

Ethan chuckled. "She's like the lovechild of Lady Photon and Legend."

Hannah smiled at that. It was not the strangest thing she had heard about Calamity's identity; in the email, Chris had told her that Dennis had suggested Calamity was another Pelham, one who had been hidden away from the world because she wasn't blonde. The similarity to the Pelhams' powers was striking, particularly to Laserdream's, and combined with her age, it had been very tempting to look into Crystal Pelham's friends to find which, if any, of them had long, dark hair.

Nudging her husband with a pointy elbow, Stephanie asked, "She's supposedly part of the Privateers, but she's working alone? Why?"

"We really don't know why. She was the one who took care of all the registration paperwork, but besides Squealer, Rune, and the drug dealers she called in on Monday, she really has not gotten into many fights. At least, not that we know of," she corrected. She hoped Calamity had not been causing trouble that they didn't know about. When a vigilante started keeping her fights quiet, that was usually a sign that she was going overboard. "It might be that she has been waiting to back her team up and they haven't needed any help, or she might have occupied herself with something else. A lot of her time might also be taken up caring for her partner."

The pictures and video clips on the screen vanished, and she put up the footage of the younger heroine's well-dressed accomplice. "This is Samantha, no cape name. She complements Calamity Witch beautifully power-wise. Mover 9, Brute 7, Changer 3, Stranger 1, with an unknown Striker rating. Teleportation, high-speed flight, and enhanced strength and durability. Kid Win suggested that she has some additional ability based on the glowing around her hands, but the effect was not apparent at the time, and she refused to disclose it when she and Calamity Witch came in to register. She has two alternate forms: the first is a garden-variety raccoon, and the other is a larger, bear-sized raccoon.

"With her taking melee combat and Calamity Witch staying at range, they would be a nightmare to fight for just about any lone cape. Throw in their mobility, and I'm glad they're on our side."

"She's a Case 53," Colin guessed, looking at the tail on display in the video.

Hannah frowned. "I don't know. She said she wasn't; the physical changes are relatively minor, she claims to have memories of her life before becoming a cape, and she didn't notice the hints I dropped about the tattoo. She did admit that those memories are fragmented, though. If I didn't know better, I would say that she is a step _between_ normal capes and Case 53s."

"You're talking about the extreme necessity theory of Case 53s." The team as a whole turned to stare at Rory, who looked slightly embarrassed at having the room's entire attention on him. "There's a theory that the powers we get are based on what we need at the time of our triggers. If that's the case, then some experts think that Case 53s had triggers so traumatic that their physical alterations are the result of their bodies being optimized for their powers. It would mean that the memory loss would be them suppressing the memories of their trigger events and going too far."

"You think she had a worse then normal trigger event, but not bad enough to block out everything?" asked Benny.

"Increased strength would let her fight off someone attacking her," Colin thought out loud. "Teleportation and flight; both let her escape, particularly if she were being held captive somewhere. The raccoon form would let her hide from anyone chasing her."

An awkward silence descended on the room, everyone thinking about the horrible scenario Colin had suggested despite their better judgement. Robin was the one who spoke first and changed the subject. "So that's, what, three capes the Privateers have?"

"Three? Who's the third one?"

"Captain, the Privateer's leader," Hannah said in response to Ethan's question. "All we know about him is what Calamity Witch put on his form and a few things we've gleaned from the Privateers themselves. He's a Trump, exact rating unknown but currently listed as a 4, who can give the members of his team a Thinker power that apparently improves their ability to work as a unit. Some of the Privateers mentioned that he knows what they're doing while they are under his power, so he is also listed as a Thinker 2 with a provisional classification as a Master. That isn't part of his official file, though." She took a swig of her own beer. "I felt, and Piggot agreed, that drawing connections between an ally to Teacher would only hurt our working relationship if it ever got out."

"It would be nice if we could meet with him in person—" An uncharacteristically happy tune came from Colin's pocket, and he pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. "Dragon, can I— What? Repeat that— Dragon! Slow down and say that again. It sounded like you said—"

The rest of his conversation was cut off by the wail of the Endbringer sirens.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	22. Psychic Smasher 3-1

**Psychic Smasher 3.1**

 **Thursday, February 24  
** Your alarm rings in your ear, and you sluggishly reach out to hit the snooze button. Normally you are ready to get up, but right now, you are just so tired. It's like you didn't get more than a few hours' sleep. Your hand finds the alarm, but swatting at it with your eyes closed isn't making the sound stop. If you could just make it _shut up_ ….

"Taylor. Taylor. _Taylor_!"

"Whaa?!" you demand, your eyes opening as you rub your ear. Why is she shouting at you?!

"What is that noise?"

"It's my…." You trail off because no, that sound isn't your alarm. It's coming from outside. A long, loud wailing, one that is vaguely recogniz—

Your eyes widen in sudden terror. The Endbringer sirens!

You jump out of bed and run to the dresser for some clothes, eschewing your underwear drawer as the irrelevance it is in this situation. There's no way this is just the six-month test of the system. That is always announced on the evening and nightly news days in advance, and it happens precisely at noon so everyone can see that there isn't really a giant city-destroying monster wandering around. They never happen in the early hours of the morning. This is for real. You need to go, get to a shelter and wait the attack out.

 _WHIIIIIR. WHIIIIIR. WHUUUUR._

Ice fills your veins, and your hands slow to a stop. No. No, no, no. You misheard that. You must have misheard it.

 _WHIIIIIR. WHIIIIIR. WHUUUUR._

"Taylor," Samantha asks, catching on to your obvious fear, "what does that mean?"

"The third siren was different." Your voice is a whisper, the significance obvious. It has been pounded into your head for the last nine years. If the third siren is the same as the others, you get to a shelter. If the third siren is different, you run. You run for your life and you run for your sanity, because that means…. "The Simurgh's here. In Brockton Bay."

Your movements now are even faster as you throw on an old, too-small t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and move to the closet for a couple of old suitcases. You can't help but remember that the last time you used them was when your mom was still alive and your parents had taken you to Disney World for a week. Tossing one to Samantha, you shout, "Stuff everything you can in there! We need to get out of here now!" Whole cities were quarantined after the Simurgh visited them, the people inside eventually allowed to leave but treated like criminals for the rest of their lives. No, not criminals; they were treated like ticking time bombs. Time bombs that could go off at any moment and wreck chaos wherever they were.

Because that was exactly what they were. Ordinary people turned into weapons that would go off when and where and why the Simurgh wanted them to. The only way not to become one was to get out of town as quickly as you could.

You grab clothes with both hands and shove them into the suitcase without reason or order. Clothes for the next few days ahead, check. You don't have a driver's license or a credit card. You don't have a phone. You don't have anything you can think of with special sentimental value. That's all the things you need to worry about grabbing with the angel of crazy at your doorstep. Everything else can be replaced.

Zipping up the suitcase, you hear Samantha do the same. "Taylor," she calls out, "catch!"

Perfect Storm falls into your hands, and then it's around your neck and you and your Guardian Beast are literally flying down the stairs. "Dad! Dad, where are you?!"

"Kitchen!" You dash to that room, expecting him to be packing up the few things he and you truly can't do without. Instead, you find him standing half-naked in the room, a cell phone – something he purchased after forming the Privateers and with extreme reluctance – sitting on the counter and the pants of his Captain outfit already on. The bag with the rest of his costume is open on the table. "This is why we made those lists in the first place, Alexander, for if we needed to get info out as fast as we possibly could. Dover's too close. Manchester should be big enough and far away enough, but it's not much farther to Boston, and that's even better. Tell them to get on 95 and haul ass. Grab only what they can't do without; against this bitch, every minute counts."

He stabs a button on the phone and looks over at you. "What are you doing?" you all but demand. He looks like he's…. Surely he's not that stupid. "This is the Simurgh!"

"I know. That's why I can't leave. Lima can't happen again."

That makes you go silent. Much as you want to deny it, he has a point. By the Simurgh's third appearance, people already knew that she drove her victims insane. After their battle plans fell apart in the first few minutes of that fight, many of the capes who had gathered to face her turned tail and ran, deciding to leave Peru's capital to its fate. That wasn't what happened, though. After enough were gone, the Simurgh abandoned her attack, as well, and started flying over a major highway, exposing the fleeing populace to her song until the capes who were still around and some of the runaways chased after her and reengaged. They finally drove her back into the sky, but only after she had ranged back and forth over a total of fifty miles. Over the next year, so many 'Ziz-bombs' went off that the total bodycount was in the millions. Capes never abandoned a Simurgh fight again, and neither had the youngest Endbringer wandered away from her original target.

"I might be the one who tips the balance," he continues, knowing where your train of thought has gone. "If I don't show up, she might decide to go wandering again. And maybe I can make a difference. Storm somehow makes you immune to my power, but the rest of the capes shouldn't be. If they work together as well as the Privateers do, we might be able to stop her before she does too much damage."

"They'll still put the city under quarantine." He nods, and you blurt out, "Capes _die_ fighting the Endbringers, Dad. _You_ could die!"

He looks away from you and pulls on the puffy shirt. "I know that, Taylor. Trust me, do I know that. But I got these powers for a _reason_. It wasn't just random chance; I can feel it in my gut. And if I can make a difference, I should. _'With_ —"

"If you quote that old comic at me, I swear I'll hit you."

"I'm scared, kiddo," he confesses. "I won't lie about that. But I _have_ to do this. I wouldn't be able to look at myself in the mirror if I didn't help when I knew I could keep people alive." Looking up at you again, he continues, "But you don't have to stay. I don't want you to stay. Kurt and Lacey are already on their way here to pick you up before heading to Boston. I'll meet up with you when it's all over."

If he's still alive. He'll come back only if he doesn't die. "I have a better chance of surviving her than you do," you tell him. You almost can't believe that you're saying this. The Simurgh scares you, just like she does everyone else with a hint of common sense. Behemoth is the hero-killer. Leviathan is the city-killer. But the Simurgh? She's the hope-killer. If she targets you, you aren't the same person you were the day before. You're her puppet, her weapon.

But, and this is an important but, you have powers now, too. If you run when _your_ powers could make a difference, if you run and your dad dies, you know you'll blame yourself for it for the rest of your life just as he would if he ran. And you're not lying when you say that your Barrier Jacket gives you protection your squishy father lacks. "If you're staying to fight… then so am I."

"No, you're not." When he sees your hardening expression, he looks to Samantha. "Tell her she's not staying!"

The raccoon woman looks back and forth at the two of you for a moment before she replies, "This is a question with no good answer. All I will say is that where you go, Taylor, so do I. The decision of whether we fight or flee I leave to you."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	23. Psychic Smasher 3-2

**Psychic Smasher 3.2**

The cool night air whips past you as you fly towards the PRT headquarters, and as a result towards the explosions and lasers and flying chunks of debris that whirl around the third Endbringer. Being the youngest of the three monstrosities doesn't mean that she is any less forbidding, though. A naked woman standing fifteen feet tall, twenty or so wings of all sizes sprouting from her back. Her skin and hair and feathers are all the same pure, snowy white, and the shape of her body is something models across the world would envy if it weren't attached to an omnicidal engine of terror and destruction. Beams of white light, almost blinding in their intensity even from this distance, spread around her before abruptly turning ninety degrees in an attempt to hit her from all sides. Legend, it has to be; his powers are unmistakable, and after getting spells that work in a similar vein to his abilities, you did some research on the man the whole world agreed was the ultimate flying artillery cape.

Whatever he is trying doesn't work. The Simurgh's wings drift in what seems like an idle adjustment, but the end result is that they are all right where they need to be to block the attacks.

"Ugh," your dad grunts. He is being cradled in Samantha's arms, almost in a bridal carry, and though your Guardian Beast seems pleased with the arrangement, the leader of the team does not. Then again, it might not be the position that he has a problem with. "How can you just ignore that? It's enough to make me wish I was deaf."

"Blame Perfect Storm. You're still holding out against the Scream okay, right?" you say to your Device.

 _«Telepathic frequencies are shifting at random intervals, but total bandwidth appears fixed. Intrusive signal can be resisted without difficulties.»_

"I'm good, too," Samantha adds. "Storm's covering me."

Your dad harrumphs. "Consider yourselves lucky."

Oh, you do. You most certainly do. If the Scream is the vector for the Simurgh's mind-raping, a theory no one has definitively proved but is still nonetheless the predominant explanation, the fact that you can't hear it can only mean good things. Immunity from being turned into an Endbringer's plaything? Yes, absolutely, thank you very much. If your Device had told you it could do this, you wouldn't have complained about your costume the first few days after your promotion to hero. Hell, you would have accepted a sling bikini or something equally absurd.

The PRT base of operations comes into view. The six-story tall building stands all alone on a hill, and the parking lot that surrounds it is completely empty. Empty until a crack of thunder deposits a group of people near the door, that is, and the heroes rush into the building while the dark-clad figure remaining vanishes once more. This is definitely the place.

The three of you run inside, too, only to find the lobby nearly deserted. A circle of capes sit and lie in one corner, some of them cradling their heads or washing down pills with bottles of water while others watch a set of TV screens or talk into matching armbands. Precogs and other Thinkers, maybe? Over on the other side is a smaller number of parahumans, but their purpose is made obvious by the girl in a white robe, red crosses stamped on her front and back. If Panacea is there, that can only be the first aid station. The only other people around are those who are running either to the healers or back into the fray.

Panacea pulls her hands away from the hero she was fixing, and the man gives her a single nod. You, meanwhile, can't help but stare at the iconic blue-green bodysuit and the green hooded cape. Eidolon. That's Eidolon! Widely considered one of the most powerful heroes around, he was the leader of the Houston Protectorate before he retired two years ago. Nowadays, he only shows up for Endbringer fights, but even knowing that, he is still immensely respected by heroes and civilians alike.

Your distracted musings are cut short when a teenager in a bright red dress with a blockish red-and-black fringe runs up to you with three armbands. "Dragon will tell you where your groups are. Hurry up! The clock's already ticking!"

"Groups?" you ask even as you slide the armband over your left hand and tighten it around your wrist. It isn't much to look at, just a screen with a grid pattern, a bunch of dots, and a bunch of numbers that are slowly increasing, and two buttons sitting below that.

The heroine's voice is borderline disparaging when she mutters, "Newbies. Push the left button and say your name. Screen shows where the Simurgh is compared to you. Left button is radio, right is an S.O.S. ping. Hold both and say where you are if you need help but aren't dying. Counter's your exposure to the Scream. Closer you get to her, the faster it rises. It starts beeping at 180, and if it hits 200? You're a Ziz bomb, and the band explodes. Can't have another Mannequin or Blockbuster running around." She looks directly at you, and you barely keep from flinching. This girl is only a couple of years your junior, but her eyes are hard and cold. "My advice? The beeping is your signal to get the hell out. If you can't, hold it up to your neck so you die quick instead of bleeding out on the street.

"Think you can punch the Simurgh's lights out or tank her hits? Find Alexandria; she leads the impact group. Legend and Eidolon run the Blasters. If you want search and rescue, Dragon will send you where you need to go, her or Ursa Aurora. Got some teleportation power? Dragon again. We're about half our normal numbers right now, and most of them are locals like you who don't know what they're doing. We need the veterans yesterday. If you have some kind of support power, especially if you're a Thinker, the strategy group is over here. Healers go there with Infusion."

Clearing his throat, your dad says, "I'm a power-giver. Team works better together and shares senses. Captain."

"Neat," the heroine says, looking impressed despite herself. "Roulette. I'll call in some of the Brutes and Blasters and have them switch in. Got a limit?"

"Thirty minutes."

"More than enough. Follow me. You two," she says, looking at you and Samantha, "get a move on."

* * *

 **Roulette is a semi-canon character, a precog Wildbow created for his quest, though I never played it and couldn't be bothered reading through just to find out what her personality is really like.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	24. Psychic Smasher 3-3-1

**Psychic Smasher 3.3.1**

You look at Samantha. "Search and rescue?"

"Search and rescue."

The two of you fiddle with your armbands for a moment, giving your names to Dragon's tracking program. It's funny, really; once upon a time, getting to use a gadget made by the world's preeminent Tinker would have been the highlight of your day, but now? It kind of pales to the staff you hold in your hand. The armband is just a bomb and a tracker while your Device taught you how to fly and gave you Samantha and made you immune to the Simurgh….

Come to think of it, that is really important information. You do not intend to die fighting the Simurgh, but there is no way to know for sure. If you do fall, you want the information Perfect Storm has about combating the Simurgh's telepathy to continue on without you. "Actually," you say as you follow Roulette and your dad, "I already have some intel that's really important. Can you point to—"

"See that woman?" You follow Roulette's finger to a slightly dumpy-looking woman sitting in front of three computers. "Talk to Switchboard if you think it's that important."

That was a rather rude brush-off, but you suppose you should cut her a little slack. This is an _Endbringer_ battle, for crying out loud! Everyone's on edge.

Your first impression of the cape's gear is slightly wrong, you decide when you approach. It is not three computers, just one with three fold-out screens and keyboards. It actually makes her 50's style costume look even stranger. While you frame your proposal, Samantha blurts out, "What sort of cape calls herself Switchboard?"

"Someone whose powers let them figure out where information will best be used. You have something for me?"

"A pretty comprehensive document on how the Simurgh's telepathy works, for starters." « _You do have something like that, right?»_

 _«Indeed, Mistress.»_

"Got it on you?" You shake your head. "Won't be much good to me if I don't have it."

One of the few things Perfect Storm doesn't have is a built-in printer, nor paper to print the information out on. And that's assuming that its knowledge isn't too much to comfortably print. Thankfully for you and the other capes both, the age of the Internet has provided you with a different medium of communication. "Do you have an email address?"

Switchboard finally looks up at you, her blue eyes assessing. "I have one for sensitive documents, sure. Grab some paper and write it down."

"Don't bother. My staff can record it."

"If you're sure." She rattles off a long series of numbers and letters as easily as if she does it every day. She then lifts an eyebrow at you, as though surprised that you haven't scurried away with your tale between your legs. She doesn't believe you can do what you said you could do, does she? "Got that, or do I need to repeat it for you?"

Perfect Storm chimes. "We got it. We'll be in touch." You walk out of the building in the direction of the battlefield, Samantha dogging your steps. "Give them what you have on telepathy, Storm."

« _How much does Mistress wish relayed?»_

"All of it. If this information could make future Simurgh fights easier, it's worth the loss of secrecy." You think for a moment. "Well, maybe not _all_ of it. Science it up a little bit. They won't believe me if I just tell them that I'm doing magic, but if it at least sounds scientific-ish, they should take it more seriously. We can tell them the truth about magic later if we want."

Leaping into the air, you fly for only a few seconds before you start worrying about leaving your dad behind. It wasn't too bad when he had the Privateers backing him up, but they were fighting the Merchants, not an Endbringer, and those other times he was well away from the battle. What if the Simurgh decided to attack the PRT headquarters? You would need to know exactly where he was so Samantha could teleport to him and get him to safety. It's a good thing there's a spell for that, isn't it?

The irregular red orb of Wide Area Search grows at the end of your staff before splitting apart, and now you and your Guardian Beast fly towards the battlefield. You won't be able to use that spell to find anyone nearer the Simurgh, but thankfully you and Samantha can cast it independently and work off the other's mapping data.

Hitting the left hand button, you say, "Dragon, this Calamity Witch. Samantha and I are both coming on S and R. Where do you need us?"

"Welcome to the party!" a woman's voice says after a few second's pause. It doesn't have the accent you would have expected from a Canadian, though, being just a little more Midwestern. "Ursa Aurora. Bird bitch is just toying with us right now, but there's a bunch of civvies hanging around. Get 'em outta here before she fucks 'em up even more."

What?! There are people who are still here?! Didn't they hear the sirens…. Unless the Simurgh landed basically right here, so they never had a chance to run. Not idiotic spectators, then, but families who are by and large helpless. Since you can't drive off the Simurgh, you need to get them away from the battlefield before they're slaughtered like animals.

Even if it does make you the best target.

"Sam, drop W.A.S. I'll take left side of the street, you take right." The Guardian Beast just gives you a nod, her serious expression a perfect complement to your tone. The red globule of Wide Area Search grows between her hands, but you are already flying towards the first apartment building, one with its roof caved in. With the Simurgh in town, you know that Brockton Bay is all but guaranteed to be written off, so surely the owners won't mind that you just blew the door and a good portion of the wall into the living room. Sounds of crying come from down a short hallway and behind a door. Walking over, you slowly open the door.

 _Bang._

The man holding the gun watches you pull the smushed bullet out from between your shirt and chest with a sheepish look. "Sorry."

Flicking the crumpled slug at him actually causes him to flinch, which you suppose should make you feel a little better. "Why did you think shooting whomever came through the door was a good idea?"

"It's the Simurgh?"

You try hard not roll your eyes at that and instead focus on the three young children huddled in fear behind their father. "How about we get you away from the Endbringer instead of staying right next to her?"

"We can't. Tyrone broke his leg when the ceiling came down. We're stuck."

« _Samantha! Need some help.»_

It takes a minute for your Guardian Beast to arrive, but once she does, the plan to get the family out is simple. "Everyone have a good grip?" she asks, checking that the family of four are all holding onto her. The two daughters stare back at her with wide eyes, two hands on her legs and two brushing her bushy tail; the man and his son, on the other hand, are securely latched onto her arms. "Here we go. Three, two…" The familiar spinning triangle appears below her, and then she and her passengers break apart in motes of light.

Good. You lift off the ground just in time for something huge and white to pass overhead, and then the building collapses on top of you.

* * *

 **Not the best place to split it, but I ran out of time that week to write everything I wanted.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	25. Psychic Smasher 3-3-2

**Psychic Smasher 3.3.2**

 _Calamity Witch down, B1_.

You grunt and try to shift some of the rubble around as best you can with all your limbs pinned in place. A building, you've come to realize, is _heavy_ , even if it's just one story that's sitting on top of you. An alert pops up just inside your vision, warning that the stress is too much for your Barrier Jacket to bear and that the personal forcefield will soon lose the integrity that is the only thing keeping you alive. « _Samantha_ ,» you send, « _can you teleport me out of here?»_

 _«No. I can't.»_ The Guardian Beast's mental voice cracks, and you can almost hear tears falling. She's angry, too, more than you've ever heard her be before. « _I'm digging down right now. Just hang on! I'll get to— Hey, what are you—!»_

That last message worries you, but not as much as the newest alert. The collapse of your Barrier Jacket is now imminent, too-cheerful pink letters counting down the thirty seconds you have left.

Your mask has adjusted to the minuscule amount of light leaking through the cracks; that is the only reason you can see what looks like incredibly dense black smoke pouring from between the chunks of building. No, not smoke. Solid black in the shape of a hand, and it isn't going around the rubble so much as through it. The hand feels around blindly for several seconds before the wide-splayed fingers brush over your face.

A massive wrench, and you're out. Well, maybe 'out' is the wrong word. You drop several feet and land heavily on your back. White smoke has gathered into shapes reminiscent of the crumbled walls, but they offer not even a whisper of resistance when you float through them.

What greets you is not Brockton Bay, and yet it is. The buildings around you are those you saw just a couple of minutes before, but wide gaps dot the walls and everything is crumbling and faded. It reminds you of a TV special you watched years ago with your mom, some mockumentary thing where mankind vanished overnight and the narrator showed how animals would evolve in the next five thousand years or so. You remember that the view of the cities looked a lot like this.

"Looks pretty awful, doesn't it?" You turn to look at the speaker, whom you can only assume is the one who did whatever this is. For all that she is a cape, she doesn't dress the part, clad as she is in a jacket and jeans. The lack of costume, however, can't hide the fact that she is blurry, parts of her body going in and out of focus without any discernible pattern. What's more, you would swear that the parts that do come back are different than those that disappeared. "Only way I could get you out of there." Glancing over, you are a little confused when you can no longer see the pile of smoky rubble. "Feeling okay?"

"Better than I would have if you hadn't pulled me out. My forcefield was about to fail when you got there."

"Glad to hear I could help. Now let's get you back to the real world. You won't do much good stuck in here with me."

You aim a glare in the Simurgh's direction only to freeze at what you see. The Simurgh is the smallest of the Endbringers and looks like an eldritch angel, but what is visible over the rooftops before you is neither of those. Instead there is a gigantic white tree stretching up, up, up into the sky. Branches sprawl overhead with leaves shaped like wings; rather than fruit, the limbs are heavy with eyeballs the size of buses. While you stare in shock, the tree slides soundlessly around another building. "What. The hell. Is that?" you finally manage to ask.

"That's what the Simurgh looks like here," the cape tells you. You look over to find her watching the moving tree. "I can see what she looks like in the real world, and she and that have moved together the entire fight. I think I saw a couple of leaves shrink a little bit when Eidolon hit her with some glowing-buzzsaw-thing, but I can't be sure about that. It may have just been how it moved."

"Still good to know." And you still don't know this woman's name. Stretching out your hand, you tell her, "Wish it were under better circumstances, but it's nice to meet another hero. And thanks for saving my life. Seriously. If you ever need anything from me, just give me a call. I'm Calamity Witch."

The distorted cape gives you an uncertain once-over, but then she grabs your hand and pumps it once. "Phantasm."

The world cramps again, and you're back in the real Brockton Bay. Phantasm is gone, all that's left of her a silhouette with ragged edges that flutter and flicker like flame. The outline twists in what might be a nod, maybe, and then she slips through you like a ghost to run deeper into the city.

"So glad he's gone." You look over your shoulder at Samantha and Vista, who was the one who spoke. "There's villains, then there's creepy villains, and then there's him. But," she sighs, "he did save your life, so I suppose there's that. Doesn't make him any less disturbing."

You take to the sky, your focus on the next building with people in it, and Vista appears on a nearby rooftop, stepping from building to building. "She didn't seem that creepy to me."

"She? Okay, whatever. You don't have to feel how space twists around _her_. I can feel people, even if I can't move well around them, but with her, it's like there's just a hole." Speaking of twisting space, your dozen Flare Shooters split into two groups, blowing apart the doors on opposite sides of the street. Evacuating these families takes less time than the last one did, and just like before, Samantha gathers them all up around her and vanishes back to the PRT headquarters so they can get on the bus waiting outside to take them to Boston.

 _Young Buck down, D8_ , the armband states, the first words you have heard it speak since announcing that you were trapped. _Breakdown down, D8. Young Buck deceased. Breakdown recovered. Shielder down, D8. Breakdown down, D8._

Breakdown, the cape who single-handedly wiped out the Slaughterhouse Nine. You can see why the Simurgh would focus on him. If he's as dangerous to her as he was to—

Something rumbles, the sound increasing steadily.

 _Intrepid deceased. Brandish deceased. Breakdown recovered. Velocity deceased. Shielder recovered. Hallow deceased. Chubster deceased. Kid Win deceased. Woebegone deceased. Piledriver deceased. Alexandria down, C5. Legend down, E8. Menja deceased. Krieg deceased._

What the hell is going on over there?!

You shoot upwards, followed quickly by Vista, and what you see leaves you in shock for the second time in far too short a span. The Simurgh has changed strategies, and rather than dodge the blasts everyone throws at her, she has uprooted five different skyscrapers and ripped them apart into rubble. That rubble is swirling around her in a spherical shell so thick that the Endbringer within can barely be seen. The brief glimpses you do get show her to have something big and shiny in her hands.

"That can't be good," Vista says in a voice of flat horror.

The curtain of debris falls, revealing the device the Simurgh was working on. Five chunks of glossy grey metal, some of the irregular sides with holes or posts in the middle, are fitted together in a shape something like a sideways Y. Motes of glowing green light appear nearby the shapes and coalesce around the edges to give them a haunting glow. Multicolored beams of light come from somewhere on the ground, undoubtedly where Legend is. The Simurgh pulls the gadget close to her chest and wraps her wings around it, taking the attack on her feathers; once it is over, she shoves the now even more brightly glowing device into the air and twists something internal with an alabaster hand.

A translucent green bubble explodes into existence and sweeps through the air like a nuclear blast.

* * *

 **Can I just mention that I hate Endbringer battles? I wasn't a fan of them in canon, and they are hard as hell to write and make interesting. Unfortunately for me, the ramifications of this arc are kind of important for the plot.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	26. Psychic Smasher 3-4

**Psychic Smasher 3.4**

As soon as you see that green bubble, you know you do not want to get hit by it. Even if it isn't inflicting any damage at all to the buildings it passes, that doesn't mean that it will have the same courtesy towards flesh. Watching the dragon-shaped plane that was previously hovering in the sky plummet into a skyscraper only reinforces that decision.

You are about to leap off the building and fly away when you notice that Vista is still staring at the blast. Whereas your fear is pushing you to run away as fast as you can, hers must have paralyzed her. She snaps out of it and starts turning around, but you can see that she won't have time to get out of ground zero before it reaches her. She vanishes from the nearby rooftop to one on the other side of the road.

You are already there. "Grab on!" Wrapping your left arm around her, you position your body between her and the blast. Your Barrier Jacket makes you immune to fire and radiation; Perfect Storm told you that during your virtual training session. Hopefully that will give you some protection against whatever this is. And if doesn't work? "Strong Shield!"

The orange triangle appears in front of you, but it by itself won't be enough. Focusing on the code in the back of your mind, you _push_. A second shield appears in front of the first, and then a third, a fourth. The fifth is slower, and your head is starting to hurt from holding these spells up at the same time. The sixth fades into view. You're at your limit.

The blast arrives.

You have seen your shield break before, when Rune pushed against it with her boulder. You saw the cracks develop as even your strength wore out. But there is none of that when green meets orange. The far shield doesn't break so much as it falls apart into motes of light. So does the next, and the one after that. You scream in defiance as each barrier is swept away like so much dust. The verdant wave washes over you, and you stagger and fall, your strength abandoning you. Vista is likewise affected, dropping onto the rooftop a moment before you do the same.

The lethargy lasts only for a moment. Pushing yourself to your knees, you frown when you feel the bits of gravel digging into your palms. That's… strange. You lift one up and stare wide-eyed at your hand when you see the tiny indentations where rock pressed into skin.

Your Barrier Jacket has protected you from bullets and grenades. For it to fail against nothing more than gravel? Something is dreadfully wrong.

"Storm? What's going on?"

There is no response. You look down at your staff in your hand in horror. The blood-red orb in the middle of the staff's head has gone dark, like a Christmas light with a burned-out filament. A chill grips your heart, and then a whine from behind you makes you turn around to see Samantha curled up on the ground in her pet form. She blurs into her more human shape. "Ugh. That was awful. Should have left when we could."

The staff trembles. The gem is still dark, but a spot of red flashes in the middle. It blinks again, then a third time, each time coming closer on the heels of the previous flash. Finally, it lights back up fully, the red glow highlighting the fine cracks that cover the surface like spiderwebs. « _Rebooting. Hardened mode engaged.»_

You sigh and sit up, pulling your Device close to your chest. It's okay. You're weak, Samantha's hurt, Perfect Storm's hurt, but you're all still alive. "What happened?" you ask.

« _Uncertain. Interface functions disrupted. Code segments corrupted. Hypothesis: anti-telepathic pulse with secondary anti-magilink effects.»_

An anti-telepathic pulse? How the hell would the Simurgh even build a machine capable of doing something like that? The anti-magi-whatever you'll get an explanation for later.

"What the crap?" Vista demands. You watch her stare around in confused panic. "I can't feel anything. I can't pull anything. It's all just gone."

"What's gone?"

"My powers. My powers are gone."

Ear-rattling thunks distract you from that revelation and refocus your attention on the Endbringer still floating in the middle of your town. She is actually leaning to one side, and her movements lack the preternatural grace she is known for. Her weapon must have messed her up, too. Good. It isn't enough to stop her, though. The strange device disassembles itself into five pieces, and she rearranges them: three form a rough triangle while the other two stack on top of each other and fit onto the middle of the triangle. The shapes shift slightly, becoming more cohesive and streamlined.

Pushing the left button on your wristband, you ask, "Is anyone still able to fight out there?" A few seconds pass, and there is no answer. Examining the screen, you grimace at the blank screen. A dead wristband means no communications. No tracker. No SOS beacon.

« _Revised hypothesis: electro-psychic pulse. Parahumans primary targets. Parahuman magic telepathy-based. Anti-magilink effects incidental.»_

A ball of purple light gathers at the end of the cannon-looking thing. The Simurgh reaches up and twists something on the gadget. The ball bursts into hundreds of sparks, the effect not totally dissimilar to Wide Area Search, and those sparks streak away. One approaches you only to swerve downwards and into a nearby apartment that you hadn't reached before getting stuck under the fallen building.

You don't have to wait long to see the effect. One window shatters, and an oddly proportioned woman in a ragged shirt flies out. She grows when she hits the ground, her clothes stretching and ripping apart around arms and legs the size of tree trunks. Hair falls to the ground. The woman-turned-creature staggers around drunkenly, gigantic bald head holding equally gigantic eyes that stare around as though her entire world has just been turned upside-down. Her lost, mournful whine breaks your heart.

The demonic angel disassembles her machine and rearranges it once more. This time the pieces get stacked up in a column, and then they stretch and thin out into a staff or a baton. The Simurgh flips something on the side with a twitch of her fingers. A bright blue light shines from the top end.

Vista screams and falls to the ground clutching her head, as does the transformed woman. Only one of them immediately gets back up, though, and her eyes are now filled with a feral hatred. Vista is slower climbing to her feet, and her face shows you just how painful the Scream must have become. Even if she had her powers, she wouldn't be much help in this state.

"Storm, Sam? Can we still fight?"

"I think so, but transforming feels weird. I don't know if I can teleport, either."

« _Assist spellcasting for both Mistress and Samantha. Interface damaged. Less assistance available. Spells more difficult.»_

"Can we fix you or something?" you ask worriedly. "Anything?"

You've spent the last four weeks relying on your magic supercomputer to do all the heavy lifting. You can't do the calculations yourself, you know that, and this situation is showing the weakness of that dependence. You make a mental note to learn how to cast at least one Flare Shooter all on your own. Flight, too, just to be on the safe side.

« _Self-repair process active. Estimated time to completion: three hours.»_

Three hours. Okay, that's workable. Just three hours that you and Samantha are fighting at half power. While possibly hundreds of people have been turned into rabid monsters. And, if Vista is any example, while you two are effectively the only capes in town.

Some days, your life _really_ sucks.

"Mommy!"

The monstrous woman looks up at the broken window, and this time, her rumble isn't quite so sympathetic. Digging claws the size of steak knives into the brick wall, she starts climbing upwards.

* * *

 **Whoops…**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	27. Psychic Smasher 3-5

**Psychic Smasher 3.5**

There's no way you're going to leave now. That woman is clearly not in her right mind, but she was before the Simurgh's device activated. If she can remember what she does when the device is finally destroyed, remembers killing her own children? You wouldn't wish that on anyone. By that same token, you don't want to hurt her just because the Simurgh is using her as a puppet.

"Sam," you say, your Guardian Beast's full attention on you now. "I'm about to do something that's probably very stupid. I'll get her attention and lure her away from the kids. You get them out of the building, then get them and Vista back to the PRT's headquarters. Make sure Dad's safe. I'll meet up with you as soon as I can lose her."

"You're right. That's a terrible idea. How about I distract her, instead? I'm stronger and tougher."

"That's why we're doing it my way." She gives you a dubious look. "It sounds like there are at least two kids in there. That's three with Vista. I can't carry all them at once, but you can. And if you get in trouble, you'll be able to fight back long enough to get to safety. They're going to be safer with you than me. I don't think she can fly, either, so I can stay out of her way." The woman has just passed the second floor and is making her way to the third. Her kids' screaming rises in pitch as they realize what kind of situation they are in. "We don't have time to argue, Sam. I need you to trust me."

Her teeth click together. "Fine. But we _will_ have a long talk about this when you get back."

You smile at the implicit demand. "Looking forward to it. Let's go!"

Aerial Combat kicks in, throwing you off the building towards the woman. Since you have to do a larger proportion of the calculations than normal, you make sure to slow down a little as you get close. The last thing you want is to distract the woman because you're lying dazed on the ground. A single Flare Shooter forms in your hand and smashes against her head. She wheels around to glare at you, not inconvenienced in the slightest by your attack. You expected that, unfortunately, but it would have been nice for _something_ to go your way today.

"Hey, Monster Mom! I look a whole lot more appetizing than a couple of brats, don't you think?" You mime licking your arm. "Yep, no doubt about it. Way tastier. Come on, Mrs. Robinson. All you can stomach right here."

You don't know if it was your taunts themselves or just presenting the woman with a different target, but she hurls herself off the building and into the air. Unlike her, you can actually fly, so you swerve out of the way and watch her land gracefully on the street. Because breaking a couple of legs in that fall is clearly too much to ask. You drop down to half your previous height and waggle your fingers at her. "Over here, sweet cheeks."

The woman turns to you, hate and hunger in her eyes. Is it just you, or is she getting bigger?

She runs down the street towards you, and you fly away slowly enough that she won't lose you immediately and return to her previous meal choice. That is actually harder to accomplish than it sounds; even with Perfect Storm damaged the way it is, you know you can still reach supersonic speeds if you had a long enough stretch free of obstacles. The woman starts slowing down, and you have to flip around and fly over her head to get her attention again. "That's right. Follow me," you mutter. Raising your voice, you cheer, "You can do it! Lose those thunder thighs! You gotta hit the gym if you want to earn cougar status!"

Your cheeks turn red as you realize what just came out of your mouth. "Storm, you are never to tell anyone I said that."

« _Said what?»_

"Exactly."

To answer your previous question, yes, the woman is indeed growing still. She's reached somewhere between six and eight feet in length now, and her body has started slimming down and getting longer. Is she adjusting her body type for whatever she's doing at the time? Lung's growth combined with Aegis's adaptability?

You hope she doesn't grow wings. That would add a wrinkle you really don't want to deal with.

The woman leaps up and lands on the side of a building, and then she springs off of that to fly after you. You shoot up this time and watch her soar through where you had just been. She lands on the roof of the building behind you.

You are about to fly away again when you notice her stumble. Her feet are firmly beneath her, so it isn't that she's lost her balance. Something else is going on. She takes a few more steps before slumping to the ground.

Curiosity wars with caution and common sense, but you slowly drift closer, ready to get away as soon as possible.

Your caution is unwarranted. The monstrous form is panting far too quickly for your peace of mind, and its chest doesn't look like it's moving as much as it should. The woman's eyes lose the feral spark that had lit them, leaving only confusion and pain. It took long enough, but it looks like she's finally getting over whatever the Simurgh whammied her with. Big brown eyes look up at you. "Be'," she growls from a throat that is far better suited to earth-shaking roars. "La'."

Names, maybe? "Your kids are safe. I had my partner carry them to the PRT while I distracted you."

The fang-filled mouth twitches. Her body relaxes completely. Her breath escapes in one final sigh.

And just like that, another innocent person has fallen to the Endbringers' rage.

Rage of your own fills you. What was the _point_ of all this?! What does the Simurgh gain from turning people into monsters and then killing them not two minutes later?! You fly to another, taller building and send your hottest glare at the feathered monster.

The Simurgh no longer has her machine; that is now laying on the ground and sparking fitfully. She drifts over the battlefield, head moving this way and that as though examining the aftermath of her attack. Then she stops and looks at you.

You don't know how much good Flare Shooter will do, but you're ready all the same. No going nonlethal on her.

The Simurgh doesn't attack, though. She spreads her arms wide, then she lands on the ground and bends her knees. She holds that position for a moment. Is she taking a fucking _bow_ ?! Like this is all just some big stage production?!

Her wings flap once, and then she rockets into the sky.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Ta— Calamity!"

You run over and give your dad a hug. You don't even care if people are watching; anyone who doesn't like it can go hang. Samantha is standing right behind him, and it is her you ask, "Any problems?"

"Nope. The effects of the Simurgh's gadget didn't even reach here, but it did blow out the cameras the Thinkers were using. No one had any idea anything was going wrong until capes started retreating."

A couple of capes and several PRT agents in black body armor march towards you. "Calamity Witch," the man in front barks, "return behind the barricade. Noncompliance will be treated as hostile action."

"What are you—" A couple of agents raise their weapons, and you can see that these aren't containment foam sprayers. They look more like the laser rifle Dad purchased from Coil. "Okay, okay," you tell them, slowing raising your hands in the air until one of them twitches at the motion. Right, capes. Never can tell if an upraised hand is accommodation or preparation to blast you. "Take it easy. I'm going."

"You need to excuse them," a stern voice says from behind you once you stand with the rest of the capes coming off the battlefield. You turn around and find yourself face to face with a black-haired heroine wearing a dark helmet and an eyepatch, a black cape tumbling down her equally black bodysuit. You know this face. Everyone in the whole world does.

 _Alexandria_ is talking to you!

The corner of her mouth quirks while you stare speechlessly at her, and her voice is softer when she continues, "Simurgh fights are always bad in terms of morale. It's better when we have the armbands that can keep track of exposure. Speeds up the process immensely. But even without those, we do have means by which to identify who is most likely to be effected by the Scream. It isn't as exact as Dragon's technology, but…" She doesn't shrug. Alexandria is too elegant to do something so casual. She does give the waiting line a small frown, though. "It is always good to have contingencies."

"Alexandria." The sole woman in the Triumvirate gives you a small nod and walks over to the hero in a bluish-purple business suit and domino mask. He doesn't do anything but wave her on. Not too terrible a surprise; everyone knows that Alexandria is immune to the Simurgh's song. Then he looks at you and glances down at the clipboard in his hand. "Calamity Witch."

You he gives a more thorough inspection. After a moment, he frowns and holds out his hand. You lay yours on top of his, and if anything, his expression becomes even more disturbed. "Red, blue."

"Blue?" Alexandria repeats. "Not green?"

"Not even a hint. Bright royal blue."

"What does that mean?" you ask in rising panic.

"Spectrometer measures a cape's inherent threat level," the world-famous heroine says. Waving her fingers in a beckoning motion, she walks away from the Thinker cape, and you hurry to keep up. "Red is the highest, followed by orange, yellow, green, and lastly blue. He can also see any effect on someone's mind caused by a Master, again using that same scale. Very, very few capes walk out of a Simurgh fight with a blue rating, particularly if they have been near the thick of the fighting. Even fewer are red-level threats, too." She stops and turns around to place a heavy gaze on you. "Before today, there were only three of us. You're number four."

Oh. You stumble a bit as you figure out what you're supposed to say to _that_. "I… I kind of figured the immunity part out. I couldn't hear the Scream at all, even when I was within sight of her. Samantha, my partner, is the same way."

"Two capes, working on the same team, both immune to the Scream." She crosses her arms. "Interesting."

Your grip tightens on Perfect Storm. You are okay with telling the Protectorate about your immunity to the Simurgh and giving them what Perfect Storm knows about telepathy, but admitting that it's a product of possessing your Device, something that can be taken away from you? That goes a bit outside your comfort zone, even if it's Alexandria you're talking to.

"No! Let him go!"

You turn around to stare at the situation brewing at one of the evaluation benches. The woman who shouted wears a red bodysuit; the man being held captive is dressed more casually, black slacks and a red dress shirt underneath a breastplate. It takes you a moment to recognize them as Othala and Victor, capes from the Empire. A power-granter and a skill thief, respectively, if you remember correctly.

"You said he was yellow!" Othala yells at Spectrometer. "So was Glory Bitch! You let her go on!"

"Procedure is procedure," says the Asian officer in charge of the squad that is pulling Victor away. The nightstick in his hand spits out a couple of small sparks. It's a taser, too, then. "He'll stay here unless he is granted clearance to leave. Should only take ten months to figure it out one way or another."

"You fucking chink! Let him go or—" What would happen was left unclear when the officer slams his baton into her gut and switches on the taser. Othala seizes briefly before dropping like a rock. Definitely more force than necessary, but if he's a Brocktonite, you can understand his vindictiveness. Victor soon joins her after throwing one of the agents restraining him to the ground.

"Where are they taking her?" you ask when you notice that both Empire capes are getting dragged away.

"She will be filed as someone who needs processing and will be contained here." You whirl around to stare at Alexandria. "There is no rule that people who are unaffected have to leave the city being quarantined. Nor is there any rule that people cannot enter once the quarantine is active. It is where most of the medical staff who will treat the civilian injuries will come from. Even though they need to go through the same assessment and clearance procedures that people who were stuck here will need to undergo in order to be released, since they only entered the city after the Simurgh was already gone, they will not have to deal with the requirement to inform employers and landlords about being in a containment zone once they leave. She will likely go on that list as well, but since the only identity that will be recorded is her cape name, she will need to be processed in that identity or else she will receive the tattoo and suffer the same requirements as a potentially influenced civilian."

You take a moment to try to process that. It's a little too much for you to deal with right now. "Was what she said true?" you ask instead. "Do heroes get preferential treatment?"

"Despite how famous Sphere's story is, villains are statistically more likely to have increased aggression for a given level of influence." Alexandria flicks her eye around you. "And just between us, yes, there is a bias against them as they contribute nothing to society. A potentially influenced hero is dangerous, but she will try to work for the greater good until it becomes clear whether she is or is not a Ziz-bomb. A villain will not be as helpful, and so there is no point to giving them the benefit of the doubt."

All you can do is stare at her in shock. Sure, you wanted to get rid of the villains in Brockton Bay, but locking them up in a Simurgh containment zone still seems a little much.

"I would suggest you, Samantha, and Captain leave while traffic is still relatively light," she says once the silence drags on too long. "The military is quick to set up a boundary following a Simurgh attack, and while they have your names and descriptions, there is only one processing area. If you delay, you will be stuck waiting in line for possibly an hour before you are freed to go." Reaching up, she lays her hand on your shoulder. "This was an ugly battle, particularly for your first Endbringer fight, but I hope to see you at the next Simurgh fight if not against the others. Every cape who is immune to her Scream is a cape who can fight without worrying about a time limit. I can't stress enough how important that can be. Keep that in mind, Calamity Witch."

Giving you a gentle squeeze, she walks away and rockets into the sky.

* * *

 **And that is the end of the Simurgh's attack on Brockton Bay. An entire arc done in five chapters. _Why_ do I constantly write stories that have a lot of action in them?!**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	28. Psychic Smasher 3-x

**Psychic Smasher 3.x**

The sun was sitting low in the sky, painting the Los Angeles skyline a bright, beautiful red. It was an eerie counterpoint to the three glasses of bourbon Michael was passing around. He raised his glass. "To fallen comrades."

"To fallen comrades," Rebecca murmured. Beside her, David did the same before downing the tiny amount of liquor. He waved one cloak-wrapped arm, and Michael – Legend when he wore the mask that currently lay forgotten on the table – filled the glass anew. Looking at her two closest friends, possibly the only real friends she had left, she asked, "What happened today? Shutting down our powers, turning people into monsters, amplifying her Scream. The Simurgh has never done anything like that before. What changed?"

"I don't know," David grunted. His temper was always short after an Endbringer fight lately, and it wasn't hard to understand why. "Did either of you get the impression that she was laughing after she did that? When she was just floating over the battlefield? It was like she was taunting us, showing us that it doesn't matter what we try, she'll still win."

Michael plopped into his seat and forced a weak smile on his face. "Maybe it's you. Weren't you telling me last week that you thought you were on to something? Maybe you've figured out how to get your powers back."

David's laughter was bitter. "I wish! It was another dead end, just like all the others. Remember when I fell? That was my last flight power burning out. I still have weightlessness and gravity inversion left, but they won't be enough." He laughed again. "Once we thought I had every power imaginable, but now I can count them and watch them wink out one by one. Twenty-seven. That's it. That's all I have left." Reaching out, he grabbed the bottle out of Michael's hands and took a deep pull. "How the mighty have fallen."

"I really wish Contessa was here," she heard herself say. "She'd know what to do."

That was the wrong thing to say, and the look of disappointment – not anger; she'd almost prefer that – Michael sent her proved it. "That's what got us here in the first place," he reminded her unnecessarily. "And if you had told me the truth about her and Scion and everything else when it mattered, I would have told you that. Now we're stuck acting out parts in a play that none of us know the script for, and half the cast has called in sick."

Unable to argue with that, she just nodded. Almost two years previously, Scion had disappeared. He hadn't flown away. He hadn't burst into flames or fallen apart. He was just gone. When she tried to tell Doctor Mother and Contessa about that, she had been unable to reach them. No matter what she tried, she couldn't get an answer. She did not know for sure what had happened, but it didn't take a Thinker to figure it out. Scion had found Cauldron's base. He found the other creature. And from there? If he had even a fraction of humanity's emotions, what he would have done upon seeing one of his own race being chopped up for experimentation was obvious. The next day, Eidolon had resigned, officially because he could no longer handle the stress of running one of the largest branches of the Protectorate but in truth because the vast majority of his powers vanished when Cauldron did, yet more evidence of Scion's rage. It was the only way they could hide his sudden weakness.

She and David had waited a week before they finally told Michael everything, revealed all the secrets they had kept. They knew they would need to present a united front when Scion inevitably attacked. They waited. Weeks turned into months, months turned into a year, and still there was nothing. Since that fateful day, no one had seen hide nor hair of their golden enemy. The temptation to lower their guard was strong, and they did their best to resist it. Their resolve lasted another six months. Now, though, they had no choice but to accept what was in front of their faces. Scion, the greatest monster humanity had ever faced, the probable source of most capes' powers, had fled this world. Fled or hidden or killed himself out of grief, as laughable as that last was to contemplate.

June twenty-first, 2009. Father's Day. She could almost choke on the irony.

Even without Scion waiting for them, they still had three other world-destroying monsters to face. The next fight was against Leviathan, and to their surprise, he chose to attack a comparatively uninhabited island in the South Pacific. Rather than fight, the assembled heroes evacuated the island and let the middle brother have his fun. For a few glorious hours, they thought they had been lucky. Until he set off a tidal wave that scoured clean several of the islands of Indonesia.

Was that the first hint that the Endbringers had been holding back all along? At the time, it hadn't seemed like it, and since then, everything had gone back to business as usual. Now the Simurgh had forcibly reminded them that knowing their enemy was essential to defeating them, and for all they had learned, they still knew nothing about the Endbringers.

"Maybe it isn't a total loss," she said softly, mind wandering to all the news Switchboard had relayed to the Chief Director's email account. "A fresh cape gave us an almost hundred-page document on the theoretical principles of the Simurgh's telepathy, along with some conjecture on how to block it or use it to our advantage. It was interesting reading, and while it would take a Tinker to make any of it work, the theory itself seems sound. I've already forwarded it to Dragon and Terawatt. Maybe they can design something new that would keep us all safe from the Scream."

Or Calamity Witch would step up and help given enough incentive. She had noticed how tightly the young heroine had held her staff when she challenged the girl about her immunity to the Scream. How was it that no one else had figured out the young woman's varied powers were all due to her Tinkertech? Was it just because she was an affiliated hero and so no one dug too deeply, or was she just that deft a manipulator? No, her expression when Rebecca revealed the ugly politics of Simurgh quarantines ruled the latter out. Very few heroes had ever looked at her with that kind of abhorrence. Maybe that was why it was bothering her this much?

Michael gave her an odd look, but it was David who said what they were both thinking. "You, being an optimist? Who are you, and what have you done with Rebecca?"

"I can be optimistic when I want. If I remember correctly, and I always do, you two thought I was being _too_ optimistic when I proposed the very idea of the Protectorate."

The two men nodded, but their words still circled inside her head. She was optimistic. Or, rather, she had been. She hadn't had much in the way of hope in a long while, and as that dwindled, so had her optimism. How could someone with perfect recall not notice her own personality changing? Or was it just the years, little changes happening so slowly that she never paid them any attention? And if that were the case, why was she noticing it now?

It was the girl. Calamity Witch. Her expression was still stuck in her head. Why? What did her subconscious find so important about that? She couldn't put her finger on it….

Oh.

Rebecca closed her eyes. Now she saw it. Long, dark hair. Black outfit. Skirt and boots. Many young heroines had tried to emulate the outfit she had worn when she first debuted, but few pulled it off well. Take away Calamity Witch's hat, turn her shirt black instead of red, replace the mask with a helmet…. Yes. That very easily could have been her twenty years ago. Combine the physical appearance with Spectrometer's proof of her raw power and her immunity to the Simurgh, and it all added up. Calamity Witch reminded her of _herself_ , back when she was young, innocent, idealistic.

And that was why she couldn't shake the look of shock she had received. It was, what, eleven years ago that the Siberian killed Hero? Doctor Mother had suggested they let Manton run around where he liked because a monster like that would drum up support for the Protectorate. She had rejected that plan the minute it was suggested, but… but she had compromised in the end, hadn't she? She let Manton go. She thought about doing something when he joined the Slaughterhouse 9, but she had been talked out of it once again. No, she hadn't been talked out of it; she had _let_ herself be talked out of it. ' _It's necessary for the plan.' 'We have to think about the survival of humanity as a whole.'_ Or her personal favorite, _'We can't save everyone. Sacrifices have to be made.'_

She had looked into a mirror today, and what she saw was the very person she had once despised.

And the worst thing? She couldn't even say that it was worth it. She had decided to play the long game only to find out that the rules weren't what she thought they were. How many lives had Cauldron ruined? The people they abducted, turned into monster, mind-raped, all so they could have an army when the final battle arrived. Except there was no final battle. Scion was gone. Cauldron was gone. The formulas were gone. All that was left of their legacy was their victims.

"…okay, Rebecca?"

She opened her eyes to find David and Michael looking at her with concern. "Are you okay?" Michael repeated. "You were a million miles away."

 _I'm looking back at my life only to see that I wasted the last twenty years and apparently threw out all my morals along the way._ "I'm fine," she said with a practiced smile, the same one she gave reporters and subordinates. What did it say that her two closest friends just nodded and accepted it, not even realizing that it was fake? "Today was a bad day, and I still have a lot of work to do before the Chief Director can leave. I don't mean to kick you out, but…."

"It's fine. We understand." David and Michael stood and put on their masks. Looking at Eidolon, Legend asked, "Do you need a lift back to Houston?"

"I'm fine. I brought Hopscotch with me. I just hope she didn't run off after a butterfly or something. She's a nightmare to find when she—"

The door closed shut behind them, and Rebecca rubbed her temples. She had quit aging quite a while ago, but right now, she felt every one of her forty years. Reaching into a small pocket sewn into her suit, she pulled out her civilian ID's cell phone and scrolled through her missed calls. Jillian, her secretary. Jillian again. Oscar, her second-in-command. Jillian. The aide for the Tennessee governor she was supposed to meet in the next couple of weeks. Jillian really needed to talk to her, didn't she? Her mom….

She stopped and looked at that number again. Her relationship with her parents had been strained after she disappeared for two years for her 'experimental chemotherapy', and after that her two different roles in the government ate up all her time. She hadn't visited them in years, and while she gave them both her work and personal number just in case something terrible ever happened, she generally ignored their calls unless she happened to answer without thinking. She was just too busy. Managing the PRT, running the Protectorate's LA branch, keeping Cauldron's plans running smoothly.

Her fingers tapped a button.

" _Hello?"_

"Hey, Mom."

" _Becca! This is a surprise. You never call."_

"I know. I'm sorry about that." Her helmet silently taunted her, and she turned her gaze away from it and to the skyline. "I know it's late up there, but do you have time to talk for a little while?"

Right now, Alexandria could wait.

* * *

 **I was _really_ messing with the players' heads all through this arc; not during the updates themselves, but some of the answers I gave didn't make as much sense as they should have since they had no idea what was coming. Specifically, I mentioned that a couple of characters, namely Breakdown and Phantasm, were semi-OCs, more specifically OCs with canon shards, but I didn't explain what that meant until this update.**

 **Yes, Scion is dead, has been dead for over a year, and the shards he originally planned to keep out of the cycle have been thrown into play. Breakdown got the Stilling shard (AKA, the Golden Fuck Off Beam), which is what let him kill Crawler and the Siberian, and Scion's mass-hiding avatar-creation shard is the reason Phantasm could see a chunk of the Simurgh's core. Even more amusing, a lot of the players _still_ haven't figured out I might reuse this idea later on in the story! It's made some of their plans and comments a little interesting from my perspective. :)**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	29. Emigration 4-1

**Emigration 4.1**

 **Sunday, March 6  
** "It's not funny!"

"It's kind of funny," Kurt disagrees, doing his best to contain his snickers. The rest of the Privateers' leadership isn't doing so well at that, though at least your dad looks just as embarrassed as you are. "And look at it this way: it could be worse."

You shoot him and the tablet he carries a hateful glare. Why oh why doesn't Perfect Storm know a spell to incinerate objects with just a look? "Yes, I should be happy that random people on the internet are content with just fantasizing in explicit detail about my torrid love affair with _my own father_ !"

Goddamn shippers. They are the _worst_. Apparently, that hug you gave your dad immediately after the Simurgh fight was not quite as inconspicuous as you expected it would be after an Endbringer fight, and people there got ideas. Then some Tinker, who you will track down sooner or later, decided to post pictures. For the first time, that your Barrier Jacket makes you look a couple of years older serves as a disadvantage because no one considered that the two of you might be father and daughter. Instead, several people latched on to the idea that your relationship is a May-December romance, and then the shippers slid out of their slimy holes and started making insinuations. Insinuations and bad cape-fic and Photoshopped images. Worse, because you look like a legal adult, the rules protecting minors from being sexualized aren't being applied, and that was _before_ Perfect Storm found you being mentioned in the NSFW threads.

If you ever find out who XxVoid_CowboyxX is when he isn't on the Internet, you're going to feed his computer to him piece by piece with great violence.

Alexander and Margaret glance at each other and then pointedly look away, their jaws trembling as they keep their laughter contained as best they can. Your dad just sighs in resignation. "And to think, they're still not as bad as the ones setting Samantha up with literally everyone."

"I didn't think they were that bad," your shameless hussy of a Guardian Beast says. "Admittedly, I don't think Narwhal's and Ash Beast's powers would interact like that, but you have to give them points for creativity. And since I am fireproof—"

"And on that note, I'm gone before I decide I do want to die a virgin, after all."

The door swings closed behind you, and you walk down the hallway toward the stairwell. In addition to getting away from that conversation, it will be nice to go outside the hotel for a while and just fly. There are a ton of people packed in here, drawn in by the need to sleep somewhere and the significant discount – Endbringer rates, they were calling it – this hotel and others offered to anyone whose driver's license shows a Brockton Bay address, and you've been so busy keeping anyone from noticing that you dad is always off by himself or that there's a random raccoon wandering around that you haven't had any time for yourself.

These stairs lead up to the roof, and you make a note to leave some money behind in recompense for blowing up the lock that is now laying in shards and puddles on the ground. A thought wraps you in your Barrier Jacket, and then you are rocketing into the clouds. Unfortunately, your relaxing flight is soon interrupted. « _You are being contacted by Miss Militia, Mistress.»_

" _Ugggh_. Fine. Patch it through." The faint crackle of static fills your ears. "Calamity here. What's up, Miss Militia?"

" _Not much. I just got out of a custody meeting."_ You hum in obvious curiosity, and after a moment, she elaborates, " _Vista's parents chose to head to Manchester. They didn't make it."_

Oh. Oh, poor Vista. Most people chose one of three places to run: Dover, Manchester, or Boston. Unfortunately for everyone seeking refuge in Manchester, the stress was apparently enough that someone triggered while on the middle of the freeway. Worse, the power that cape received was one that let him or her sling out huge amounts of boiling tar. When a giant figure formed of hot pitch appeared in the middle of the road where people were already driving fifteen or twenty miles above the speed limit, the results were as tragic as they were predictable. The wrecks just kept piling up, killing several dozen people and injuring hundreds of others. The cape who started everything, labeled Tar-Baby by the media, had slipped away and could not be found.

"That's terrible. But the rest of the Wards can help her, can't they? And you got custody of her, so that's someone else she can rely on."

" _For now, yes. Legally, the courts still need to decide who receives custody of her civilian identity, but I have custody of her cape identity until we get settled in Philly."_

You turn to stare at the red jewel of your staff. "Philly? But I thought Armsmaster was named as the new head of the Boston branch."

" _He is. That doesn't mean we're all staying here. Even after… after we lost so many to the Simurgh, we're still one of the largest branches in the Northeast."_ She wasn't kidding about the number of casualties; the Brockton Bay Protectorate had lost five heroes in that fight. Kid Win and Velocity died when the Simurgh first unveiled her machine, Aegis when his powers were turned off and he could no longer fly, and Battery and Triumph sometime after that, probably when she turned all those people into monsters. Miss Militia takes a moment to collect herself before she continues," _Boston is a relatively quiet town from a parahuman perspective, and between Armsmaster, Dauntless, Gallant, and what's left of New Wave, that is more than enough reinforcement to deal with any villains who choose to stay. Not that many will; the main villain in Boston is a Thinker named Accord, and he probably does a better job of running other villains out of town than the Protectorate does._

" _Assault and Clockblocker are headed to Chicago. Unlike Brockton Bay, up there villains are enforcers in the gangs rather than the leaders, and the Protectorate spends a lot of time working with the police to bring in the unpowered thugs. The PRT decided my power would make the gangs too likely to escalate, but Clockblocker has the perfect skill set for making arrests, and Assault has… contacts there from before he joined the Protectorate._

" _Like I said, I'm off to Philadelphia with Vista. For some reason, a lot of Case 53s have been popping up there over the last couple of months. Very powerful, very violent, and unfortunately very insane Case 53s. My powers are better suited to dealing with attacks like that."_

That's most of the surviving capes, but one's missing. "What about Shadow Stalker?" You blanch. "I'm so sorry. Is she…?"

" _No, she survived. We have had some… disciplinary issues with her, and Legend has an interest in troubled Wards. She's moving to New York."_

"Doesn't seem like much of a punishment to me."

" _In many ways, it's not. It's not supposed to be. I'm sure she will think it is, though."_ You can hear the smile in Miss Militia's voice. " _When the Wards first started, it was supposed to be somewhere we could sort out our issues and learn how to use our powers safely and responsibly. Legend has kept it like that for the most part. She'll receive a lot of anger management, a lot of counseling, a lot of lessons on how she_ _ **should**_ _use her powers rather than just how she_ _ **can**_ _use them. It'll be good for her."_

"Why are you telling me all this?" you ask. Just informing you that she's leaving is one thing, but all these details, especially the stuff about Shadow Stalker? There's something going on here. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but it sounds like you have some ulterior motive besides just giving me a heads up."

" _I do,"_ she admits without a moment's hesitation. " _You, the Privateers. You want to have a positive impact on the world. You want to do something that_ _ **matters**_ _. I congratulate you on that, but if you want to make a difference, I don't know that you can or should try doing it in Boston. Yes, there are still villains here, but things are stable, and most of the crimes being committed are nonviolent. Theft, embezzlement, blackmail. Crimes that should be stopped but not ones that can be blasted away. In Brockton Bay, it didn't matter; we were one step away from a gang war. In Boston, raw force will cause more problems than it solves._

" _If you still want to stay, stay. I just thought you should know that there are other places you can go, places where you can find a friendly face and where I think you can do more good than you can here. And if you do decide to stay, you have my number. Feel free to call me if you ever run into any problems or just want someone to talk to."_

You chat for a couple more minutes before she hangs up. You drift in the sky, wondering what you're going to do and how you're going to sell your dad on it.

* * *

 **I think we all know how awful shippers can be. Probably because most of us fit in that group in some way or another. :D**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	30. Emigration 4-2

**Emigration 4.2**

 **Friday, March 11  
** "A little more to the left."

Your dad and Samantha slide the couch to the side with a grunt. Maybe it's a little lazy of you to supervise while they do the hard work, but for all the power your magic gives you, enhanced strength wasn't part of the package. And to be fair, they're moving the heavy stuff while you bring everything else into your new apartment.

When your family, along with about half the Privateers, moved to Philadelphia, you honestly hoped that you'd be able to buy a little house like the one you grew up in. It would also make life easier for your dad as he would have more space where he could let go with his powers without the risk of enhancing random neighbors. Unfortunately for those neighbors, all of you eventually decided to settle in a nicer area of the city with what was considered one of the city's better public school districts – that was something your dad refused to budge on – and houses here were not cheap. Nor were apartments, really, but with an apartment, there was no need to go to the bank and try to justify how an officially out-of-work union man should qualify for a home loan of $150,000 or more. Then there were the issues of not being able to guarantee just how much money he would be able to pull in from month to month and the issues with trying to essentially launder money through a job he didn't have and….

Anyway, there were more than a few logistical difficulties cropping up.

At least the Privateers would be busy. Philadelphia was simultaneously in a better and worse position gang-wise than Brockton Bay. On the one hand, Brockton Bay only had three gangs of note, but discounting the Merchants, they were too large, too entrenched, and too powerful to be toppled easily. When one had more capes than the Protectorate and another had a cape who could and had fought back an Endbringer one-on-one, taking them down required planning, persistence, and lots and lots of practice. Philadelphia, on the other hand, had over a dozen stable gangs and more that popped up and vanished a little later, but most of them possessed no capes. Generally it was the established gangs who did, and when one of the smaller gangs grabbed a parahuman of their own, it didn't take long before that cape either died or showed up working for one of the more established groups.

That briefing Perfect Storm had given the Privateers as a group had been both comforting and worrying. Comforting because it meant that the worst they would likely run into, especially when they were still getting the lay of the land, was regular thugs with maybe one cape. Worrying because it meant that dealing with the older, stronger gangs was going to be a long-term problem just like the Empire and the ABB would have been.

But that was a worry for a different day. You don't want to think about blasting away gang members right now. Nor about starting a new school on Monday. Nor do you want to consider the email you received a couple of days ago at the address you set up after becoming an official hero, but that one probably does need a response fairly soon.

"I think that's the last of it," you tell your dad. "I'm off to fly for a while. Need me to do anything before I leave?"

He shakes his head and flops onto the couch. "No. I'm just gonna sit here until I get some energy back. Be back for dinner."

You nod. Considering that the daylight is already fading, it gives you maybe an hour before he wants you back. Plenty of time to think. Before you can ask Samantha if she wants to stay here or come along, she shrinks into her pet form and hops into your dad's lap. He absentmindedly starts petting her. « _Call me if you need anything. I think I might just rest for a little while, too.»_

That answers that question. Very glad that the apartment you're renting is on the top floor, something _you_ insisted on for this very reason, you transform and slip out your bedroom window. Your dark Barrier Jacket lets you blend in with the building twilight, and you fly high enough that no one on the ground has any hopes of spotting you. A few minutes drift by in silence before you sigh. "Next week's gonna suck."

« _Why does Mistress not continue her education as currently?»_

"Because Dad wants me to hang out with kids my own age," you tell the Device. "He said he'd consider homeschooling again if things started going bad, but only if the school's like Winslow and doesn't fix things. And," you add in a mutter, "that's if anyone even starts anything in the first place. Emma, Sophia, and Madison targeted me because Emma went nuts and I just endured it no matter what they did to me, so they never had any reason to back off. If someone tries to bully me because I'm the new girl or something, I won't make that mistake again." You shrug. "Not to mention, they won't have any secrets or anything to use against me. No one knows me here. Worst that happens is everyone ignores me, which might be the best thing, too."

« _Mistress is distressed, but foresees no difficulties?»_

"Just because I'm not going to be bullied doesn't mean I want to put up with all the normal high school crap." Perfect Storm is silent about that, and you sigh again. "But that's a minor problem, all things considered. Read me the email again."

" _Calamity Witch,_

" _I was reviewing what footage we have of the Simurgh fight, and I could not help but notice something interesting in the process. I apologize if you feel that I crossed a line, but despite what you said in your affiliation registration, it is obvious that your staff is Tinkertech. Please do not be concerned that this will negatively influence your current relationship with the PRT; you are not the first independent hero who has wanted to keep her cards close to the vest, as it were, and you will not be the last._

" _The reason I have contacted you is personal rather than strictly professional. It should come as no surprise that I like to speak to any new Tinkers on the scene, and the fact that according to eyewitness accounts your device still functioned when the Simurgh's machine destroyed all the rest of our tech? What you built is truly something remarkable. If you ever want to talk shop, feel free to get in touch with me._

" _Hope to talk to you soon,_

 _Dragon"_

Silence fills the air for a moment. "This is a polite way of saying she's going to bug me until I call her about how 'I' built you, isn't it?"

« _A strong possibility, Mistress.»_

"Great. Maybe if I were an engineer or a programmer or something, I could pull it off, but I'm just a high schooler. There's no way she wouldn't see right through me. Unless you can teach me enough about magic technology that I could fool the best Tinker in the world?" you ask hopefully.

Perfect Storm buzzes quietly. « _I do not know the details of my own construction.»_

"I was afraid you were going to say that. I wonder what else has gone wrong in the world today?"

« _All local PRT branches received a bulletin,»_ your Device says in a cheerful voice. « _Members of migratory criminal group the Fallen were seen in Maryland. Agents supervising the construction of the wall surrounding Brockton Bay are aware.»_

"Of course. Endbringer cultists. That's what life was missing."

« _Expectations are the PRT can defend against the Fallen. Eligos was the only identified mage.»_ That really doesn't help. After a slight pause, Perfect Storm asked, « _Can request be submitted?»_

"A request?" You flip around so you're right-side-up and look at the gleaming red jewel. "Sure. What do you want?"

« _Sufficient data concerning recent atmospheric phenomena was collected to create simulation of dimensional craft's reentry and destruction. Media included reports of_ 'green comets' _, high potential for being debris. Request that Mistress assist in locating pieces.»_

That was not at all what you were expecting to hear, and you aren't entirely sure how to answer. "Not that I'm saying no, but what are you looking for? That was a couple of months ago. Even if we did find them, they've either been picked clean by anyone nearby or they're in the middle of the ocean and the water's ruined everything."

The faint warble Perfect Storm let out was pitiful. « _Computer core may be intact. Cargo manifests, communication logs, personnel listings.»_ It hesitates for a moment, something it has done on only rare occasions. It takes a lot to rattle your Device, but apparently this qualifies. « _Recovery of corrupted memory sectors has slowed. Origin, engineer, initial designation still unknown. Full recovery likely impossible. Craft may contain desired data.»_

You pull the staff closer and hug it as best you can. With how knowledgable Perfect Storm is about magic, it's easy to forget that it had essentially computer amnesia when you first found it. If it really is the only thing that survived reentry, it might never know who it is or where it comes from. You're pretty sure your Device knows that, but it does no one any good to bring it up.

"We'll see."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	31. Emigration 4-3

**Emigration 4.3**

 **Monday, March 14  
** The bell rings to signal the end of the last class of the day, and you are among the first students out the door. That's not to say that Mr. Paulson, the algebra teacher here at Winterrose Academy, is _bad_ necessarily. He's certainly better than Mr. Quinlan back at Winslow, though that might have something to do with the fact that this particular charter school doesn't seem to have any kind of gang activity whatsoever. Which is kind of strange all on its own, to be honest. It made sense back in Brockton Bay for Arcadia to be gang-free; everyone knew the Wards attended that school. Here in Philadelphia, though? There are only three Wards, four counting Vista, and only one is high school age. One Ward in attendance should not be enough to scare all the gangs into submission, and the rumor is that he goes to school on the other side of town, anyway.

"Taylor!"

Your musings have cost you. Before you can disappear into the sea of black sweaters, a girl pops up and links her arm with yours. "That was just so unfair. Your first day, and Paulson makes you take a pop-quiz? Doesn't he have any decency? If you get a bad grade, just let me know. I'll tell Michelle and she'll tell Fiona and she'll tell Bobby and he'll tell his father – he's desperate to get back on her good side after that mess with Gretchen, and even if I don't think he was making out with her like everyone's saying, it was still stupid to be in the music room alone with her, right? – and he's on the school board so he'll tell the principal, and I just know that you'll get a chance to retake it or something."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," you tell her, partly because you have no idea what she just said. Kayleigh is, to your ever-growing regret, part of the Welcoming Club, a school club that, well, welcomes in new students and supposedly tries to help them fit in with a minimum of stress. You aren't the only Brocktonite who's starting today, and yet somehow out of that crowd of refugees, you are the one she chose to claim. You actually asked her why during lunch, and you were punished with more word-vomit that boiled down to you looking like _'little lost Bambi'_ and her wanting to make sure you felt at home.

She reminds you a bit of Madison, which is a completely unfair comparison. Madison was good at playing up the cute little girl angle to get people, teachers included, to ignore any wrongdoing on her part and give her whatever she wanted. Kayleigh has the staff similarly wrapped around her finger, but with her, it seems genuine. She is just that ridiculously chipper. She almost doesn't seem human but instead a puppy whose brain somebody shoved into a girl's head. You've only been around her for a few hours, and already you're exhausted. How do people deal with this day after day after day?

You take a moment to be glad Samantha is a raccoon.

"Oh! I know how to cheer you up!" Kayleigh runs in front of you, plaid skirt twirling. "I forgot all about it, but Greg's throwing a party at his place in a couple of weeks. The whole school's invited. Well, not the whole school, but it's still a lot of people, and since I'm invited, you're invited, too." She gives you a guileless smile. "What do you say? Let's go let's go let's go!"

"I'll have to think about it. Parties aren't my thing, and…." You consider your plans for the night. "And I might be busy."

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

So much for being busy.

Without knowing much about Philadelphia, you decided to patrol for a while. Nothing too intense, just getting the lay of the land and maybe stopping a couple of muggers or a break-in along the way. In a city of 1.5 million people, there is bound to be a lot of crime going on. Monday nights doesn't seem to be the time for it, though. The entire town is quiet as grave.

« _See anything on your end?»_ you ask.

« _Couple hookers, but that's it,»_ Samantha replies. After the first twenty boring minutes, the two of you split up to cover more ground, and thanks to telepathy, you'll know almost instantly if she runs into trouble. So far, you haven't had to worry about that. « _I don't know about you, but I'm starting to think we're wasting our time out— Hello, there.»_

 _«You found something?»_

 _«Sure did, but not what we're looking for. Turns out we aren't the only ones on patrol. I'm gonna say hi.»_

 _«Samantha, what are you doing?»_ She doesn't respond. Sighing, you dash off.

Startled laughter tells you you're close, and you drop down only to shake your head at the sight. "Samantha, put that down. You don't know where it's been."

"Buwuh?! I don't like you any more," Vista says with a scowl. Her attempt to shame you fails the instant your Guardian Beast gives her another squeeze and makes her giggle. Her chaperone glares at all three of you. You can already piece together what happened: Samantha flew in as fast as she could and scooped the younger girl up and maybe twirled her a few times for good measure before anyone knew what was happening. "Samantha, are you sure you don't want to leave nasty old Calamity and stay with me instead?"

"Hmm. A temping offer," the raccoon woman says with a wink in your direction, "but I'm afraid I have to decline. It's a full-time job keeping Calamity and Captain in line, and without me around, I just know that they'd be helpless."

"You spent all day at home watching crappy soap operas!" Samantha shrugs your rebuke away. Ignoring them for a moment, you float over to the other Ward and offer your hand. "Hey. I'm Calamity Witch. That's my partner, Samantha."

He just looks at your hand for a moment before replying in a flat tone, "Bouncer."

"Nice to meet you," you try to say, but you can't help your voice lifting up at the end. Of the four of you here, the white-costumed hero is the only one who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. "You're the local Wards leader, I hear. I suppose you know where the gang territories are."

"Wards don't interfere in gang-related activities," he tells you with all the enthusiasm of someone reading from a phone book. "That is left to the police or the Protectorate should a cape be sighted. We go on patrol to let the public know that the PRT is vigilant in their duties to protect the public." Bouncer crosses his arms over the two upwards arrows painted on his chest. "Something we _were_ doing before you interrupted us."

"Bouncer, stop being a dick. Calamity Witch and Samantha are good people and good heroes." Vista turns to you. "Do you want to patrol with us? It'd be nice to see some friendly faces."

"We'd be happy to," Samantha answers for both of you.

Bouncer scoffs and walks off, and a little skip-hop sends him in a high arc over the street to the next building. "Keep up, little girl, or you'll get left behind!"

"God, I hate him already," your fellow newcomer says. "He's got all the arrogance and bad attitude Shadow Stalker has and is just as much a stick in the mud as Aegis… was…."

You reach over and give the now-silent girl a one-armed hug. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine."

How often have you heard those two meaningless words pass your own lips over the last year and a half? "Mm-hmm."

"I am!" she insists. You lock eyes with her and just hold her gaze until she looks away. "I kinda knew this was going to happen someday. Endbringers, villains, a thug who got lucky. Hookwolf nearly killed me once," Vista admits, "and it was luck that I got away then. Someone I knew was going to die on me eventually. I just… didn't think it was going to be all at once. Or that we'd get split up like this. Everyone I know's gone. My team, my parents." Her face contorts as she tries to stop herself from crying. "I guess I should be glad I'm with Miss Militia, though, right? At least I have one familiar face around."

"No," cuts in Samantha, "you have three. We're not going away any time soon."

"Miss Militia has my number." Well, technically the number of the burner phone you bought and that Perfect Storm did _something_ with to make sure it wouldn't get canceled, but that's a minor detail in the grand scheme of things. "If you ever want someone to patrol with or vent to or just hang out with, give us a call. We'll make time."

She reaches under her visor to wipe her eyes. "Thanks. We should keep going. I don't think he's kidding about leaving us behind."

You take the obvious segue for what it is and let her twist space to cut down the distance you have to go. To your surprise, Bouncer did wait for you. You start to thank him, but he flings his arm up in a silent command to stop. Jerk.

"Trouble?" Samantha whispers.

Oh. That would be a good reason to be quiet. The three of you creep up to join him on the ledge of the building and look down. Eight figures move around in the street, five black and three yellow. It takes you a moment to realize what you're seeing, but then you can't help but stare.

 _These_ are the Case 53s Miss Militia was talking about?!

The black figures are definitely Brutes, and all of them look like someone scaled up a rat to monstrous size and then tried to make them look borderline human as an afterthought. The yellows are better shaped, but they look… _drippy_. Snot-yellow slime molded into fat little men with big snail-shell hats on their heads, and once again, they are identical to their brothers.

Maybe Slime is a duplicator? He has to have some other power than that, though, or it wouldn't make sense for him to make copies of himself, too, nor why he's out in the open rather than letting Rat's doubles do the work. Or, scarier thought, the duplicator is a third cape, in which case you have no idea what Slime's capable of.

A Rat jumps through the window of the store they're clustered around, and his doubles are quick to follow. To your surprise, this isn't a jeweler's or a pawn shop or something else sensible. It's just a mom-and-pop grocery store. You've heard that Case 53s have problems interacting with other people because of their appearances, but to rob a grocery store? Something's not right about this.

"We take out the goop guys first," Vista says with an air of authority. "Calamity, Sam, you hit heavier than we do. Bouncer, I'll drop you on the street—"

"No. We're leaving." You look at Bouncer in surprise to find him tapping on his phone. "Going in guns blazing might be how you did things in that craphole you called home, but you're in Philly now. We pull out and let the PRT handle this."

Vista points downwards. "They're _right there_ ! I don't know about you, but I'm a hero. I'm not going to let them just get away."

"And I'm team leader. You want to be a Ward? You do what I say when I say it."

The two teens glare daggers at each other, neither willing to bend, and below you, the Case 53s continue with their pillaging.

* * *

 **If it seems a little convenient for your first patrol to introduce you to the insane Case 53s, well, it is. Then again, all fiction is based around convenient coincidences, and quests in particular.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	32. Emigration 4-4

**Jack Inqu:** There is more to Bouncer than just him being a jerk, but since the players never took any of the options to find out more, FFN gets the world reveal! Bouncer grew up in a family that was part of an extreme anti-cape movement (think Westboro Baptist Church extreme), and he shared those beliefs himself. And then he got powers. His parents, being the fine upstanding people they are, gave all custodial rights to the State of Pennsylvania.

He's a jerk because he's surrounded by people he hates, _is_ the person he hates, and everyone he's ever been close to abandoned him for something that wasn't his fault and that he couldn't do anything about.

* * *

 **Emigration 4.4**

"I think you both might be getting just a little ahead of yourselves," you tell the Wards after a moment's thought. "We know nothing about them, and while they are committing a crime, it looks like they're just stealing food. If they're that hard up, I have a hard time accepting we need to blast them from the word 'go'. We should at least see what they're actually up to before we make any moves."

Bouncer glares at you. "Weren't you listening? We're leaving. This is not your precious gang land. Fighting is not our job."

You look him up and down, your expression proof of just how little you think of him. "If Chevalier really told you to ignore a crime going on right in front of you, I will eat my hat." Bouncer is either a coward or an asshole or both if he really thinks he can get away with something like that. And for him to order you around? Oh, hell no. It's time to make your older appearance work for you. "Besides, kid, I'm not part of your little club. I'm sticking around. I'll smooth things out with Militia if you want to join me, Vista."

"There's no way I'm leaving now."

Facing a united front, you expect Bouncer to fold. What he does instead surprises you. "Your funerals." He turns away and slings himself into the air, crossing several rooftops in a single bound.

"This is what you've had to deal with since you got here?" you ask the younger heroine. "You have my sympathies."

She shrugs. "It's not that bad. Bouncer is… Bouncer, but Cherry Bomb and Flambé have both been really nice. They're the same age as me, too, and they've been capes for a lot less time. It's nice not having the _entire_ team treat me like the baby of the group."

You shrug at that and look down to make sure the Slimes hadn't heard your whispered argument. They don't seem to be paying any attention, to your great relief. "Just so you know, if they wind up posing a threat to anybody—"

"I'll be right behind you."

Giving Vista a small smile, you settle in to watch and wait.

« _Being more cautious, are we?»_ Samantha asks in your head. « _Not that I disapprove, but what made you decide to take a wait and see approach?»_

 _«A bit of this, a bit of that_.» Your Guardian Beast shoots you a raised eyebrow. « _We don't know exactly what they're doing or what they're thinking. If they're villains, we can't leave them be, but if they're just trying to survive, it wouldn't be right to shoot first and ask questions later. It's like the thing with Tattletale_ ,» you add with a sheepish expression. « _A little bit of restraint goes a long way.»_

She nods in understanding and returns her attention to the Case 53s. The Rats seem to be wrapping things up, several of them climbing out the broken window with distended bellies and arms full of food. They will probably head towards their lair soon, wherever that may be.

Thinking for a moment, you hold your staff out and cast Wide Area Search. You don't know for sure that the lair will be close by, but if it is, you'd like to know who and what is hanging around before you wander in and get caught by any guards.

The sparks zip off in all directions, and the glowing streaks catch the Rats' attention. Several of them snarl at the spell, but to your surprise, they are more focused on where the sparks are going, not where they came from. That should be common sense any time powers are concerned. "You've been a cape for a while," you say to Vista. "Do Case 53s normally act this… animal-ish?"

"…No. All the ones I've met are normal people, just with weird bodies. They don't act like this."

Before you can think too hard on that, a holographic screen pops up to your left. Vista watches with undisguised curiosity while you tap part of the display to take a closer look at just what it is that's rapidly approaching you. You groan when you see the white car and the flashing blue lights on top. "Cops incoming. I guess the window had a silent alarm on it or something."

"That could be a problem." You look at Vista in confusion, and she explains, "Depending on how trigger-happy the cops are, they might set these guys off or they might not. There's no way to tell."

The police car swerves around a corner and slows to a stop, and the two officers inside step out. Both have their hands on their guns, but neither has drawn it yet. That's a good sign. "Everyone stop and stay where you are! Nice and easy now—"

The car vanishes, and in its place are the Rats. Clawed arms swing out, and even with the cops' screams drowned out by the car landing heavily on the asphalt, the sprays of blood are still far too visible.

Your view of the scene distorts, and your Flare Shooters cross the space in an instant to slam into the Rats' chests. Samantha jumps through the warped space and slams her fist into bellies and heads, and then you're there yourself. A Rat snarls and catches a blast of fire in his mouth. You shoot upwards, fireballs forming in a circle around you—

The ground is suddenly right below you again, and a set of claws slices at your face. Your Barrier Jacket withstands the attack. You fire two of the Flare bullets, and they swing to the sides when Samantha replaces the Rat. She jumps up and kicks you in the stomach, but your feelings of betrayal are cut off when you slam into something big and broad. The remaining Flare Shooters hammer whatever it is. Even without sight, the smell of burnt hair gives you a clue.

A nearby Rat jumps at you and is replaced by one of the injured cops, and you catch him before he can hit the ground only to wrap your arms around matted black fur. Sharp teeth clamp around your head, and you gag at the foul breath that washes over your face. Being so close, you hit it again and again with Flare Shooters. The heat from the blasts do nothing to you, but after the fifth or sixth one, the Rat rears back with a screech that gives you the perfect chance to shove a brace of bullets into its mouth. They don't blow up until they reach where you expect the Rat's stomach to be.

Swinging your staff like a club, you divert it upwards when the next Rat you aim at turns into Vista. Samantha reaches out and tosses the Ward away from the fray, and then the raccoon woman vanishes in a flash of golden light that is echoed from farther up the street. You are too concerned with flying up to catch Vista to wonder how many hits Samantha had to withstand to cast that spell in the middle of a fight.

You and Vista go high above the battle and, finally getting a minute to breathe, look around. Samantha has teleported behind the Slimes, and now she is a blur of motion as she hits them hard enough to throw them into each other and the brick wall nearby. The Rats stop jumping up to try to grab you when one of the Slimes lets out a warbling screech, but none of them are fast enough to reach Samantha before she swings the last one around and splatters its head against the wall.

You grimace at the violent and lethal display. Samantha made it clear after your chat with Tattletale that she would kill if she thought it necessary to protect you, but knowing that doesn't make it any easier or less disturbing to watch.

Motion on your search screen finally catches your attention, and then one of the Rats staggers backwards with blood spurting from its chest. It falls, followed by the one to its left. A black SUV, the PRT's emblem pained on its hood and Miss Militia standing halfway out the sunroof, squeals to a stop. The assault rifle in the heroine's hands barks in a harsh staccato, and another Rat dies. This would be the best time for the rest of the duplicates to run, but that isn't what they do. Like rabid animals, they rush the car.

And like rabid animals, they are put down without mercy.

Miss Militia's rifle collapses into a black and green smear that reforms as a large hunting knife. She wiggles out of the roof and waves you and Vista over. "Are you two okay?"

"We're okay," Vista says when you land. She is quiet, though, and you catch her giving the older hero a few cautious glances. It looks like she is just as unnerved by the unexpected viciousness as you are. "How did you know where to find us?"

"Bouncer called the console and told us. Where is he?" she asks with a puzzled look around.

You scoff. Bouncer calling this in helped you, no mistake about that, but it sounds like he hadn't told them the whole story. "He's gone. As soon as we said we were staying here and keeping an eye on things, he hopped off without looking back."

A deep breath through her nose is the only hint you get of Miss Militia's anger. "I see. Thank you for keeping Vista safe. If you'll excuse us, though, we need to get back to base."

"What about the bodies?"

"Uh, Calamity?" Samantha says. "You might want to look again."

Wondering what in the world she's talking about, you do just that and stare at what you find. The bodies of the Slimes are little more than puddles of yellow goop, a bubble popping here and there as their flesh keeps melting. Moving your eyes to the Rats, you see more or less the same thing happening there. The bodies are deflating like balloons, and in some cases the skin of their bellies has sloughed off to reveal partially chewed foodstuffs.

Samantha smiles slightly. "How convenient. They're self-cleaning."

You cancel Wide Area Search with a sigh even as you see more cars enter your field of surveillance, undoubtedly additional PRT agents come to secure the scene. "Are you going to want us to give a statement or something?"

Miss Militia grimaces briefly, the motion so quick that you have to prompt Perfect Storm to replay it in an unobtrusive window to make sure you didn't imagine it. "You can if you want to, but it won't be necessary. We just appreciate the help."

When the pair walk back to the SUV, you and Samantha take to the air. "I don't like this," you say once you're out of earshot. "Something about this doesn't feel right. I think… I think she's hiding something."

Something small and fluffy lands on your hip, and you pick up the raccoon and cradle her to your chest. Whatever this secret is, you know you won't like the truth.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	33. Emigration 4-5

**Emigration 4.5**

 **Friday, March 18  
** Cold Atlantic waves lap at your boots while you watch the sun sink behind the watery horizon. "You're sure about this?"

« _Yes, Mistress. Based on videos uploaded onto the Internet and extrapolating speed and trajectory, fragments of the carrier ship would have fallen along this course and been submerged. Likely locations of various fragments have been approximated._ »

"How big an area are we talking about?"

You hope it's going to be something fairly small, maybe even small enough that you could cover it with Wide Area Search, but your Device disappoints you. « _Seventy percent likelihood in an area of 0.8 mile diameter. Ninety-five percent within two miles from center._ »

"Great." You shake your head with a sigh. "Oh, well. Let's get started."

« _There is one additional issue,_ » Perfect Storm interrupts. « _Mistress's Barrier Jacket is not appropriate for undersea search efforts. It is set to protect against sudden impact and energy attacks. It will need to be recalibrated. Contained oxygen supply, resistance to increased pressures. Defense against enemy attack will be limited, but probability of confrontation is minimal._ »

Barely do you have time to open your mouth before your costume shines a sickly red. Slick fabric slides around on your body, and then the light fades to reveal the new 'calibration'. You've gotten used to your Barrier Jacket's short skirt and top, even the slinking walk that comes built in, but your initial discomfort comes back full force now that you're stuck in this itty-bitty string bikini. "Not right now, but very soon you and I are going to have a long talk about what I consider being properly dressed."

Samantha chortles behind you. "Don't listen to her, Storm. She just needs a push to dress like a teenage girl is supposed to want to dress."

"Don't give it any ideas just because you like to embarrass me." Shooting her a look through narrowed eyes, you taunt, "Besides, I want to see what it comes up with for you. Hopefully it'll be a swimsuit from the 1900s or something."

« _Guardian Beasts possess Inherent Forcefields, not Barrier Jackets,_ » Perfect Storm says, speaking from its new form as a red sphere set into the metal vambrace that wraps around your right forearm.« _They cannot be recalibrated._ »

"Guess that answers that question," Samantha says with a faint laugh. You can see the worry in her eyes, though. Right now, you don't have the defenses you've gotten used to, and she won't be there to back you up if you get into trouble this time. As if she can read your mind, she shakes her head. "You're going into the ocean. You shouldn't be in any real danger unless you decide to play tag with a great white or try to punch Leviathan. You know, the kind of things I hope you're smart enough not to do." Giving you a broad, creepy smile, she moves closer to clasp your hands in her own. " _Please_ don't prove me wrong."

"Shouldn't be a problem." She nods and backs off, and you turn around to face the sea once again. "Okay, Perfect Storm. Where's the first one?"

A holographic arrow flies from your feet into the distance.

Giving Samantha a wave, you leap to the sky. Several silent minutes pass with your only sight the waves slipping away below you before you ask, "Are you sure the pieces are this far out?"

« _Other pieces are likely located closer to shore, but those would all be small pieces of debris with little informative value. Larger pieces would have fallen farther away._ »

Eventually you reach the first site. Taking a deep breath, which is probably unnecessary all things considered, you shoot straight up into the air and stop on a dime. The wind rustles in your ear as you spin until you're upside down, the water racing towards you. You hit the water with a splash and sink the twenty feet or so to the bottom. « _This is the center of that circle you plotted out, right?_ » you ask your Device. « _Show me_.»

A green grid spreads out around you.

« _Yeah, this will work fine. Mark out where I've been so I don't run over the same spot multiple times._ » Rising from the seafloor, you start to fly in a circle, keeping the red line to your side and spreading out in an ever-widening spiral. Several minutes later, you reach the edge of the grid and make a final lap to make sure you didn't miss anything just outside the range. « _There's nothing here, Storm._ »

« _Agreed, Mistress._ »

You reach down and pet the scarlet jewel. Your Device sounds so heartbroken, and not without good reason. This is only there first place you've looked, so you might find exactly what it's looking for in the next one, but this definitely isn't a good way to start the search.

Your next stop arrives, but you find nothing more than you did the first time. Same for the third. Cruising through the air towards the fourth, you're starting to get worried. By now, the shore is but a distant memory, and the water is getting progressively deeper. How far down can this beach-style Barrier Jacket go?

A quick dive plunges you under the surface, but before you can prompt Perfect Storm to project the search grid, two things catch your attention. The first is the large chunk of metal sitting on the ocean floor, black streaks coating the surface and the edges maybe a little rounder than you think they probably were before hitting Earth Bet's atmosphere but still definitely intact. It's huge, which shouldn't surprise you as much as it does considering this is an alien spaceship; forty feet tall but irregularly shaped, almost as if it had been sheared lengthwise at an angle. You can only guess at just how big this thing must have been before it broke apart.

The second is the edge of the sea bottom, beyond which all you can see is a darkening blue.

You drift forwards to the edge and peer downwards at the inky blackness below. That… is a really steep drop, practically straight down. « _Storm, where are we?_ »

« _Accessing Internet._ » It can do that from all the way down here? « _Based on current coordinates, ahead is the Sohm's Abyssal Plain. Approximate average depth: 17,000 feet._ »

Silence drifts between you for a moment. « _Can I…?_ »

« _Negative. Mistress will be crushed long before she reaches the bottom._ »

Good to know.

Of course, now you have to deal with the tiny little problem that all the rest of the pieces of Storm's ship are farther that way where it's impossible reach them. This is your one big find, and you had better make the most of it.

Floating off the edge, you circle the piece of rubble and see that the end sticking out over the abyssal plain has a wide opening, presumably where it was torn from the rest of the ship. The floors are canted at an angle, lending credence to your assumption that it was damaged during entry. Choosing the biggest opening, you conjure a couple of Flare Shooters for light and head inside.

To your immense relief, you don't find a bunch of bodies waiting for you. You had serious doubts there would be any here, especially with that gaping hole, but you just couldn't shake the worry that somehow you'd walk into a scene out of a horror movie. The lack of corpses doesn't mean your exploration is all sunshine and rainbows, though. Somewhere between hitting the atmosphere, the surface of the water, and the rocky seafloor, the interior had been cracked and warped, and you have to twist carefully around the strips of metal flooring and inner walls that now criss-cross the space. « _Would the computer be in the front of the ship?_ » you ask.

« _Layout of ship is unknown._ »

Right, of course. That's the whole reason you're here in the first place, because Perfect Storm's memory is so corrupted that it doesn't know where it comes from or even what its real name is. How would it know where anything is in this ship, even if it had spent its entire existence on this one spaceship?

Thinking about it, you hope for Perfect Storm's sake that _it_ isn't this ship's computer.

You're about fifty feet in when you stop. You don't know what this computer core is supposed to look like if it's even here, and there has to be a better way to find it than just poking around blindly.

« _There is,_ » Perfect Storm announces. You must have been broadcasting again. « _Mistress merely needs hold out her hand and call upon her magic._ »

Without a better idea of what to do, you do just that. A ribbon of writing appears circling around your right wrist, but this isn't the orange of your magic. It's instead a deep, dark purple, the color of ripe eggplant. While you stare, casting triangles of the same color spin into existence, and they fire cables of some kind into the nearby wall. A couple of lights reveal themselves by flickering on and off, and most of the cables pull out just long enough for you to see the forked ends before they stab into new and more deliberate locations. The flickering increases, spreading all along the ship.

A wave of lethargy sweeps over you and begins dragging you down.

Before you can worry about the risks of passing out underwater, the cables retract and the triangles and ribbon vanish. « _Highly mana-intensive device located. It is likely a vital component to run the ship, possibly computational or life support—_ »

A loud sound, not a boom nor a thump but something in between, can be heard outside the ship, and the entire thing jerks sideways and twists. You grab onto one of the pieces of metal to keep it from swatting you in the face. « _What was THAT?!_ »

«… _It is possible that a forward laser cannon discharged due to indiscriminate empowerment while locating this system._ »

A laser cannon. Like in the movies. Okay. That makes you wonder just what kind of ship this was, but you set that question to the back of your mind and focus on the red glow your Device is projecting on the ceiling another fifteen or twenty feet down the hallway. You make your way towards it, your progress helped when the ship lurches several feet backwards. « _Another laser?_ »

Perfect Storm doesn't answer, which you take as it not knowing, either, and instead you take a look at the virtual rectangle. « _System should be behind this wall_ ,» it says.

Adding even more room for error, you flick a Rust Shooter about half a foot from the edge and nod when the area of destruction doesn't quite make it all the way. That should do the trick. Firing that spell repeatedly, you slowly work your way up one side and almost make it halfway to the next corner when the ship again lurches, sliding backwards and tilting downwards more than either time before.

That wasn't a laser.

You turn yourself slightly so your work area is once more square while you turn this curiosity over in your head. Why would the ship be moving so much? Taking a glance to the side, the obvious answer smacks you in the face as you stare past the thicket of metal at the darker water beyond. « _We're perched on the edge of a cliff. Storm, could that laser have broken the rock enough that it's crumbling and we're about to fall off?_ »

A long moment passes before Perfect Storm starts blaring a warning klaxon, and you move with newfound haste. Rust Shooter is taking too long, and instead you pull out Flare Shooter. These bullets shine white and set the nearby water to boiling in the brief instant between creation and melting the bulkhead.

The ship shifts three or four more times before your impromptu acetylene torches make enough room for you to reach your fingers into the gap and rip the wall away, your lack of strength made up for by your buoyancy and your flight. A cylinder much smaller than the rectangle is revealed, maybe half your height and as big around as your two arms put together. Several more Flare Shooters destroy the braces holding it in place and the wires running from its dozen ports.

You rip it out of the wall just in time for the ship to tilt almost ninety degrees and start falling.

Perfect Storm is shouting something into your head, but you're too preoccupied with getting the hell out of here to listen. More Flare Shooters hit the wall as fast as you can make them. This was the closest section to the top of the ship, right?! If you can melt your way through, you should reach open—

The circle of metal falls away, and you dash out into the ocean with the tube right behind you. The falling ship catches on the end and spins you around and around until you don't know which way is up.

Thankfully, Perfect Storm does. Your flight spell redirects itself, and you rocket backwards and watch the ship fall into the stygian abyss. Then the broken edge of the cliff zooms past you, and a few seconds later, your head breaks the surface of the water.

"I know this means a lot to you," you tell your Device, "and I'm happy to help you out, but let's not do that again."

Perfect Storm beeps consolingly at you.

Whatever this tube thing thing is, it had better be worth the trip. Cradling it to your chest, you sigh with no little relief when your Device paints you a path. Another Flare Shooter, this time to act as light now that the sun is fully gone, and you start skimming through the water to shore, Samantha, and ultimately sleep.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	34. Emigration 4-6

**Emigration 4.6**

 **Tuesday, March 22  
** Picking up the bowl of ground hamburger, you carry it over to the table where the tortillas and lettuce and cheese are already waiting. A quick, simple meal, but still miles away from those you and your dad have shared for the last couple of years. "We really should have taco night more often."

"I don't know," he replies with a smile. "Let's wait and see how Sam's digestion handles it. If raccoons react to spicy food like dogs do…."

Samantha gave him the dainty sniff that comment deserved and settled herself at the table. "I am a lady. I do not get gas, and I certainly would not spread it around the house. That would be rude."

"You're the rudest and crudest of all of us," you remind her, earning a betrayed glare from her and a quick laugh from your dad.

Conversation dwindles while you eat, appreciative moans making up the majority of your exchange. When you take a break from your munching, though, you ask the question that's been bugging you for a while. "You've been busy this week. Are the guys already out poking at the gangs?"

"Not as much as you'd think," he says after wiping his mouth. "A lot of the work so far is research. Finding out what territories the gangs have claimed, which capes are part of which groups, stuff like that. And finding out what kind of business they're involved with, too." He grimaces. "Taking the Merchants' money and handing over their drugs was easy work, honestly. A lot less dangerous than tangling with Lung or the Empire would have been. And I got the feeling that the Protectorate was more accommodating _because_ we were focused on shutting down the drug trade. We might have had more trouble if we had gone around grabbing skinheads who could protest that they weren't doing anything, but busting dug dens? Pretty cut and dry."

"So you're sticking with that for now?"

"Yeah. Several gangs make a nice chunk of money off drugs here. The Winter Hill gang is the big name since they have an actual drug Tinker, but they also have a bunch of capes to call on. Not as many as the Empire could, but still enough to rival the Protectorate and Wards. The Warlocks are smaller dealers, but they're also more violent. MS-13 is the big name in cocaine, and Cadejo makes sure they keep that title." He shrugs. "And then there's the Fairyland gang, who should be the easiest to deal with."

You take a moment to remember that name. "Isn't that the Disney princess gang?"

"Yes," he agrees with a sigh, "it's the Disney princess gang."

Samantha snickers. "You know if they beat you, you're never going to live it down, right?"

"…Let's just cross that bridge when we come to it."

The three of you stick with small talk for a while longer before your dad finally has to leave for work. Once you've cleaned the dishes, you head upstairs to your bedroom and peek in. "How's it going?"

Perfect Storm lets out a hollow sound not unlike a deep bell. « _Analysis slower than expected. Passive scan inconclusive. Active scan unfeasible. Power requirements excessive._ »

"That's not that unexpected," you tell it. "The thing was part of a _spaceship_. I'd be surprised if it didn't take a lot of power."

Of course, that it gobbles up so much power isn't a good thing right now. If Perfect Storm can't scan the computer core or whatever that tube you found is, it can't get any information off it. And if it can't get any information, looking for that thing was a waste of time.

You think about it for another couple of seconds before offering, "What if we tried what we did in the ship again? I feed you mana, and you do the whole cord thing and power it up?"

« _Mistress nearly collapsed last time._ »

"True, but things are a little different now, don't you think? If I pass out, I won't drown, for one. And last time, you were putting power through that a chunk of the ship. It won't take as much power just to run this. Besides," you add when Perfect Storm doesn't reply, "we don't have to run it for very long. Just long enough for you to get a scan."

« _That is possible. If Mistress desires it, it will be done._ »

Picking up the blue jewel, you offer Perfect Storm the power at your disposal. It drinks deep from your mana, and then the dark purple casting marks reappear and cords zip out to the various couplings. "How long do you think it'll take?" you ask when the magic drain begins to itch and burn.

« _Not… much…._ »

Blue-white sparks spit from the tube and do their best to form the same holographic screens your Device is so fond of. Noise soon follows, garbled and unintelligible.

« _Mistress,_ » Perfect Storm says in something approaching alarm, « _this is not a computer core._ »

" _DCYP Ahvunlan Lussyht."_

You blink at the spray of sounds. Was that… speech? It sounds like it, kind of, but nothing you've ever heard before.

Actually, scratch that. You _have_ heard this before. When Perfect Storm first landed, it spoke in some other language, presumably the language of its builders. And if this tube isn't a computer but is speaking to you… maybe it's something else that would be a necessity on a spaceship.

You found their radio!

" _Drec ec Meaidahyhd Depinuh uv dra DCYP,"_ the man on the other end of the line barks out when you still don't say anything. " _Oui yna eh emmakym buccacceuh uv y DCYP jaccam. Etahdevo ouincamv yd uhla!"_

* * *

 **A short one, but that's where the natural break was for the players to vote.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	35. Emigration 4-7

**Emigration 4.7**

« _Translation active._ »

You shoot Perfect Storm a grateful nod. You don't know what this guy said, but he sure doesn't sound happy. For a moment, you consider hanging up from fear that he might figure out you have Perfect Storm and demand it back, but then you shake away that flight of paranoia. What are the chances that he's going to ask about one specific Device?

Not to mention, if you hang up now, the chances of ever finding out about its origins drop down to nothing. You owe Perfect Storm way too much to do something like that.

Clearing your throat, you ask in as innocent a voice as you can manage, "I'm sorry, can you repeat that? I couldn't make it out."

" _I said, this is Lieutenant Tiburon of the TSAB,"_ he says. His voice has lost much of its anger, yet none of the steel lurking behind the emotion. " _Identify yourself."_

"Cal—" On second thought, maybe introducing yourself by your cape name isn't a great idea. The PRT agents and Velocity both thought you were a villain based on your name and your Barrier Jacket, and while this Tiburon guy can't see what you look like, he can still react to your name. You'd rather not make a worse first impression than you may already have. "I'm Taylor." Nothing else appropriate to say comes to mind, and then you hear yourself continue, "Hi?"

Really, brain? _Really_?

A long pause follows that as Tiburon no doubt is just as dumbstruck by your unattended mouth as you are. " _Hi,"_ he finally answers. " _You're… rather more friendly than I expected."_

More friendly than he expected? What? How would he even come up with any idea about what you're like? "Maybe that'll teach you not to judge a book by its cover, won't it?"

" _Strange idiom aside, you are in no position to take offense at someone judging you. Did you truly think we would stand aside and ignore someone illegally seizing the_ Agharti _?"_

…Okay, so the chances of Tiburon asking about one specific Device are actually pretty high. And Agharti? You examine Perfect Storm before shaking your head. Nope, still not seeing it. Your Device just does not look like an Agharti. "I didn't steal the Agharti. I found it on the ground. And considering it accepted me as its user without a single complaint and said it wanted to help me, I don't think you have much say in the matter," you add with more than a touch of defiance. You aren't parting with Perfect Storm so easily, no matter how much he dislikes it.

" _What are you talking about?"_

"What do you think I'm talking about? The Device I found. Wait," you say as you see through the comedy of errors approaching at warp speed, "what are you talking about?"

" _The_ Agharti _. The XIX-class dimensional frigate whose radio you've hijacked."_ You hear him sigh, the sound familiar from your father's own after a long day where nothing went right. " _Something tells me I'm not going to like the answer to this, but you aren't a pirate, are you?"_

"Why the hell would you think I'm a pirate?!"

" _Because the last communication we received from the_ Agharti's _Enforcer afloat was that multiple vessels were approaching at high speeds and were expected to be pirate craft."_ Oh. That does make more sense, except for, you know, the whole magic space pirate thing. The more you find out about Perfect Storm's old world, the more it sounds like a cheap sci-fi movie. " _But if you aren't a pirate like we thought, then I need to know how you got ahold of this radio even more."_

"From what was left of the ship."

" _…What was_ _ **left**_ _of the ship?"_

"It, uh, broke apart when it hit our atmosphere," you say slowly. "Sorry. This is the only piece I managed to salvage."

" _Wonderful. Which members of the crew are you in contact with? I need to debrief them immediately."_

"I guess you didn't hear me a second ago," you tell him. "The ship broke apart during entry and crashed. I don't think any of the crew could have survived that."

" _I heard you, Taylor. But the alternative is that you found part of our ship, repaired highly specialized and complex machinery without our engineers' aid, and yet you did not report its discovery to the TSAB. That doesn't reflect well on you. How are you even powering it?"_

Looking down at the deep purple script and the cords connecting Perfect Storm to the radio, the corner of your mouth quirks up. "Very carefully."

Tiburon doesn't react to that and pushes on, " _I've backtraced your carrier signal and have an approximate location for you."_ He _what_ ?! " _You aren't too far from Delnarib. Contact the TSAB outpost there and tell them that you've found portions of the_ Agharti _, and we can both forget the part about you toying around with it instead of telling anybody."_ Perhaps realizing how his demand could be taken, he continues in a kinder voice, " _Not to mention, this could be to your benefit, too. If you're as good with this kind of machinery as you claim to be, I can think of a few people who'd be willing to talk to you about changing jobs. I can almost guarantee you'll get better paid than you are right now."_

"That's a great offer and all," you tell the lieutenant, "but there's just one small problem."

" _What is it now?"_

"What or where is Delnarib?"

" _Let me check something…. No, Delnarib is its local name, too. What world are you on right now, Taylor?"_

This had better not blow up in your face, even if it feels almost like giving some stranger on the Internet your home address. "Earth Bet."

" _What the…. Okay. Okay. What are your nearest dimensional neighbors?"_

"I guess Earth Aleph." Tiburon stays silent, clearly waiting for you to continue. "That's the only one I know."

" _Of course it is. I can't tell you exactly who to talk to,"_ he adds before you can say anything about his tone, " _but you need to find a large city with interdimensional communications or maybe even someone who has experience with dimensional transfers. Either way, you should be able to find someone who knows how to contact Delnarib or knows how to talk to another world that does have that information."_

"Yeah, that's going to be a little difficult. No one on our world knows much about dimensional communications or whatever. I guess the people who work with Professor Haywire's portals would," you correct yourself, "but that's just between us and Aleph. And dimensional transfers? Nope."

" _What kind of piss-poor mages do you have on your world?"_

Narrowing your eyes at the radio tube, you cross your arms. Piss-poor mage? Who does he think he is? "You want to talk to a mage on Bet? I'm all you got, so you'll just have to make do."

" _…You're the only mage on your world?"_

"That's right. And you wouldn't even have me if I hadn't found Perfect Storm and started learning about magic from it."

A strange sound comes across the radio line, almost someone trying to mimic a wet finger running along a balloon. Is this the sound of a grown man holding back from screaming in frustration like a little girl? Tiburon starts talking again, and you have to strain to hear him. " _Are you kidding me? I don't get paid enough to deal with this shit. Taylor,"_ he asks in a louder voice, " _could you hold on for just a moment? I need to make a quick call to someone who will want to talk to you a little—"_

The connection fizzles out, and all the cords pull back into Perfect Storm's rapidly vanishing casting arrays. "What are you doing?" you demand.

« _Mistress's mana levels dangerously low. Risks of continued communication too high._ »

"No, they're not. I'm perfectly fine." You push yourself to your feet – when did you sit down on the floor? – and then Samantha has to catch you when the room whips around at a hundred miles an hour. "Okay, or maybe you're right. Ugh."

Your Device floats into your hands and vibrates. « _Linker Core strain detected. Time required to heal. Further use of Mistress's mana to power communication system inadvisable._ »

"How are we going to talk to them, then?"

« _Mana collector or generator necessary. Can be constructed by mage with Transcendent Gadgeteer template installed. Guardian Beast of the Gear also a possibility._ »

"Neither of whom we have," Samantha cuts in, "so how about a solution that we can actually put into practice?"

« _Unknown, but commands by Mistress to power communications with Mistress's mana will be rejected. Override protocols activated to prevent intentional user self-harm._ »

That puts an end to that, doesn't it? It isn't like you can power the radio without Perfect Storm's help, and if it flat-out refuses to do it, there's not much you can do but try to change its mind. Later, though; not now. Forcing the issue now will just make your Device dig in its heels.

« _Mistress needs rests to recover her mana,_ » Perfect Storm continues. « _No magic usage today or tomorrow. Minimal for at least three days after that._ »

"Okay, okay, I get it. Never would have pegged you for such a worrywart." The Device says nothing to that, but as Samantha helps you to the living room so you don't fall flat on your face, you have to admit to yourself that it maybe has a point.

Just a little one.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	36. Emigration 4-8

**Emigration 4.8**

 **Thursday, March 24  
** Staring at the open browser window, you reconsider once again what the hell you're going to say. You were lost on what to tell Dragon immediately after receiving her email, and in the two weeks since, you haven't come up with anything spectacular. That's without dwelling on the little fact that it has taken you two weeks to say anything. You really hope Dragon won't think badly about you after postponing this for so long.

Samantha purrs from her spot in your lap, and you stroke her soft fur for a moment. Once you had mostly recovered from draining your mana to power the radio – recovered enough to walk without the room spinning, at least – she had shifted into her pet form and stayed like that. Her drain on your Linker Core is apparently lessened significantly when she is small like this, and even though Perfect Storm had said that maintaining her human form would not stress you, she is insistent. So long as you aren't supposed to cast any magic, she will stay an unremarkable raccoon unless you need her to keep you safe.

And you've allowed yourself to get distracted again. Dragon! What are you going to do about Dragon? It was one thing when you thought you had a computer core from the crashed ship, the _Agharti_ ; you aren't a Tinker, but there might have been information on the system that would give you just enough of a background that you could pass for one through the course of a casual conversation. But you didn't find a computer, did you? You found a radio, which leaves you with no more knowledge than you had before.

Knowledge pertinent to this discussion, that is. You got quite a bit of info about angry space wizard cops, but that terrifying nugget is one you have no idea what to do with just yet. Particularly the bit about them now knowing where you are.

« _Mistress need not contact the Dragon at this time._ »

"No, I really do," you tell your Device. "I just don't know what to say."

Stretching out in your lap, Samantha suggests, « _Why don't you start with 'Hi' and go from there?_ »

A fat lot of good that suggestion is, and from the twinkle in her amber eyes, she knows it. You give her tail a gentle yank in retaliation, smiling at her when she glares up at you.

Okay, enough distractions. Time to type. " _Dragon_ ," you read aloud as you type out the private message, _"I apologize for the time it has taken me to reply. I have been rather busy_ — No, that doesn't work. She's a hell of a lot busier than I am." Your fingers tap dance on the keys of your laptop while you think. " _Settling in to a new town took me longer than I expected. I know you're probably busy, but if you want to chat sometime today, I'll be free. If not, just let me know. My schedule's pretty open most of the time._ That should work, don't you think? Friendly and casual?"

« _Sure. It's not like she's going to get huffy at you because you were too informal. It's an email on PHO._ »

"True." You hit the send button and lean back. "Now we just have to wait for her response. Storm, can you keep an eye on my account and let me know when she replies? I don't want to keep her waiting—"

The computer dings.

« _The Dragon has replied._ »

"I noticed," you say in a dry tone. Opening the message, you find only a link leading to – according to Google – a video chat site known for its strong security. "Hey, just deploying my Barrier Jacket won't strain my Core too badly, would it? I don't think an old t-shirt is the thing great first impressions are based on."

« _Video stream can be edited prior to transmission._ »

"So that's a no, then?" Perfect Storm does not deny it, and with a small sigh you click the link. "This had better not blow up in my face."

The page loads, and the little screen in the corner that shows what Dragon is going to see shows you as you are for a brief instant before it blacks out. When it comes back, your digital self is wearing your Barrier Jacket and sitting in front of a featureless black background. Right after that change is made, the main screen comes to life and reveals a woman's face, her 'skin' made of blue characters falling from the top of the screen. Dragon smiles, and you stare as the symbols briefly flow around the changing shape before resuming their straight downwards march. " _Good afternoon, Calamity Witch."_

You'd think having a private chat with Alexandria would have inured you to talking to world-famous heroes, but your tongue is still tied for a moment before you clear your throat and reply, "Good afternoon to you, too. You can just call me Calamity if you want. I know my full name's a bit of a mouthful."

" _It's not the worst I've ever heard. That prize goes to a Native American hero I met once,"_ she says when you look at her curiously. " _He was an Alexandria package who called himself He Who Flies Among the Eagles. Stereotypical, maybe, but certainly memorable. He also refused to shorten his name, which probably played a role in why the PRT gave him the nickname Flyboy."_

"He didn't take that well, did he?"

" _Not in the slightest."_

You chuckle lightly, which is the reaction Dragon is going for if her widened smile is any indication. "I hope I didn't distract you from anything important, but I figured two weeks without any answer was pushing the boundary of rude."

" _You didn't need to feel obligated to reply,"_ the legendary Tinker replies with a small frown. " _I just wanted you to know that you could call me if you wanted to. As for interruptions, you actually caught me at an opportune time. I was just finishing up a report about the Cornell incident for the PRT."_

"Cornell…. You mean about how everyone in that auditorium was turned to stone?" She nods. "That is a scary power. I know there was talk on the news about some people saying it might have been an accident, but was there any proof of that?"

Dragon sighs and shakes her head. " _That is part of what is in the report I mentioned. Some of the evidence the initial investigators found proves that this was definitely not an accident, if for the sole reason that the parahuman in question is not a Shaker as first thought. She is a Tinker. More specifically, she is possibly a bomb Tinker."_

"Bomb… Tinker?" you repeat hesitantly. Did you really hear that right? "Powers are weird."

" _Yes, they are. I do not believe that powers determine whether someone becomes a hero or a villain, but then instances like this come up that make me wonder."_ She smiles. " _And speaking of heroic Tinkers, how are your projects coming? Most Tinkers reach their peak production volume at the beginning of their careers when they are still finding their limits. I remember my first projects,"_ she says in a fond voice, " _and even if they are crude compared to what I do now, they still have a special place in my heart."_

"Uh…." Great start, Taylor. That's really Oscar-worthy acting right there. "I…. I've been a little busy just getting the lay of the land here. All the little hassles that come along with moving, you know?"

She hums distractedly. " _Once you finish setting up your workshop, feel free to contact me if you ever want someone to bounce ideas off of. I have always enjoyed collaborating with other Tinkers."_ With a light laugh, she adds, " _Which reminds me that I don't even know what your specialization is. Few Tinkers can achieve the variety of effects of which your staff is capable. Durability, plus pyrokinetic blasts, plus unassisted flight, plus force fields? The only specialty I can think of that could manage all that is energy manipulation of some kind, which is so broad a field as to put you close to Hero's level. I don't know that even I could put all those functions into a single machine, and that doesn't even come close to how you made yourself completely immune to the Simurgh's Scream. It should come as no surprise, but that has been a holy grail for Tinkers ever since she made her first appearance._

" _I suppose the question I have been dying to ask is somewhat obvious now,"_ she concludes with another laugh. " _How did you do it?"_

Well. That's a tricky question, isn't it?

* * *

 **Before anyone asks, no, I don't have any plans for Bakuda at the moment. It's just that I realized as I was writing that the date I have listed is the day after Lung recruited Bakuda in canon, so I felt mentioning her was appropriate.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	37. Emigration 4-9

**Emigration 4.9**

For a long moment, you hold your tongue. So many ways to approach this, but there is no way to tell which is the best, and you're only going to get one shot at this.

Lying to Dragon is incredibly tempting just for how safe it is. Play to her expectations, claim you really are a Tinker. She even gave you an out! Energy manipulation is such a broad category that everything you can do fits under it, and considering that's what magic _is_ , you wouldn't even have to make too much stuff up. _'Science up'_ the magical theory you've been learning just like you had Perfect Storm do to its information about telepathy, and you actually could pull it off.

But that would be just another lie, and a lie that will do nothing but buy you a little temporary comfort. Eventually she will expect you to work on some projects, and when you can't do it, she'll get suspicious. Even if you do as Perfect Storm suggests and give someone a Device that lets them be a magic Tinker, that doesn't solve the larger issue. Tiburon said he knew where you are, which means eventually someone is going to show up to reclaim their ship. That is a problem much larger than you, and there is no way you'll be able to hide it all on your own.

So you have to tell Dragon the truth, at least to some extent. While it's true that you don't know all the details about how Perfect Storm works, saying only that you found it laying on the ground would still lead to all the same problems lying would. It might even make things worse since she might think of you as no different than the Dragonslayers, a group of criminals who make it a habit to attack Dragon and have even beaten her occasionally, stealing her stuff as they ran away. Sure, you didn't steal Perfect Storm, but you certainly didn't spend too much time looking for its creator prior to the whole _'I come from outer space'_ revelation. That's too big a risk to take.

Only telling her about magic is little better. You won't be the first cape to claim that their abilities are mystical, and even if you frame it differently, that well was poisoned a long time ago. Myrddin, for all that he's the head of Chicago's Protectorate office, is widely regarded to be a kook, and then you have villain groups like the Adepts in New York, and the Eye in Las Vegas, and the Brujas in Los Angeles, and the Heretics in Montana, and…. Well, there are more than a few of them, and no one believes that they really do have magic powers.

If you won't lie to her, won't tell her the bare minimum, and can't limit yourself just to magic, there's one other choice that you can see. You'll have to go all the way and tell her the whole truth.

"That… is a bit of a complicated answer." Dragon's avatar gives you a look of confusion. "I guess I should start with the easiest thing. I'm not a Tinker."

" _But your staff—"_

"I didn't build Perfect Storm. I _found_ it." Is that the anger you were afraid of? It's hard to tell from her fake face, no matter how expressive it is. "I was just walking through an alley and found it on the ground. Then it started talking," you add with a laugh, "which scared the life out of me. It didn't remember who built it or even what its real name was, and because I was the only person who paid it any attention for as long as it had been laying there, it offered to give me whatever I wanted. I asked to become a hero, and, well…."

" _It… offered to give you what you wanted?"_ Dragon repeats slowly. " _Because it was thankful? You make it sound… sentient. Even sapient."_

Lifting the small blue jewel up into the camera's view, you say, "Dragon, I'd like to introduce you to my Intelligent Device, Perfect Storm."

« _It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance._ »

Dragon apparently heard that, no doubt because Perfect Storm was pumping its telepathy into the video stream, and her eyes grow wide. " _Intel— You're an artificial intelligence. And not a simple one, either, are you?"_

« _Correct. Complex intelligence and problem-solving capabilities are required to assist my mage as per design. Emotional capabilities necessary to understand user's priorities. Full intelligence was deemed the most efficient solution._ »

" _Your…."_ The Tinker looks back and forth between you and your Device several times. " _Your_ _ **mage**_ _?"_

You nod. "That's complicated part number two. Or three, if you consider an Intelligent Device being an AI as number two. All of 'my' abilities are based on the magical theory Storm's been teaching me."

" _I know that parahuman abilities can seem incredible, even magical,"_ explains Dragon patiently, " _but they really aren't. They are all rooted in science. We might not understand exactly how they work, but there is a reasonable explanation for them."_

"Apparently that applies to real magic, too. When you said that you thought my specialty was energy manipulation, you weren't that far off. It's just that it uses a specific form of energy. Storm calls it mana, and I don't have a better word for it. I still can't wrap my head around exactly _how_ it works," you caution, "but all of my spells are weird computer programs. I dump mana in, and somehow the spells turn that energy into all those different effects. They're complicated, extremely so, but I'm slowly figuring out how they work and how to make them do different things than they're programmed to do. I can even cast a few of them without needing Storm to do the calculations for me."

You carefully don't give away just how proud of that you are. You can't do much without Perfect Storm's help – make a single Flare Shooter that provides light but little else and kinda-sorta hover for a couple of seconds – but it's still progress!

" _That's impossible."_ Dragon's flat denial cuts through your enthusiasm. " _A parahuman's abilities cannot be taught. Either you have them or you do not. Tinkertech can do amazing things, but it is still a manifestation of parahuman powers. People have tried to do what you claim, hundreds of times. It just doesn't work."_

"And if Storm's powers were parahuman, you'd be right. But they don't."

" _It still had to be built by a parahuman—"_

Now it's time for the hardest part of your explanation, the part that could really get you labeled as a whack job. « _Storm,_ » you ask as inspiration suddenly strikes, « _you didn't happen to record our trip down to the ship, did you?_ »

The image representing what Dragon sees is replaced by a view of ocean waves, and she falls silent as she follows you under the surface. "Do you remember those green meteors that were on the news a couple of months ago? Storm suspected that they might be parts of the ship it was on, so it tracked down where they most likely fell."

The remnant of the ship appears on-screen.

"That's what we found."

Dragon's digital face is perfectly, creepily still while she watches the video. Looking down into the abyss, moving through the ship, Perfect Storm projecting its weird wire-things, recovering the radio, and then your frantic struggle to get out before you were dragged to the bottom of the ocean. And even as impressive as that is, part of you is just glad that it doesn't show you in that embarrassingly skimpy swimsuit Storm stuffed you into.

" _Huh,"_ the world's premier Tinker says once the video is done. " _That…. Mmm. I am not saying that you are lying, but you hopefully understand that it is a relatively simple undertaking to fake footage like this. Many movies have been made with that exact premise. If you are agreeable to it, I would appreciate you giving me a copy of this video so I can analyze it."_

"Sure." You didn't fake the video, so giving it to her can't hurt. Speaking of things that can't hurt…. "Would you like a copy of some of the theory texts Storm has? So you can see that I'm not lying about that, either?"

" _Very well. It could make for interesting reading."_ You give Perfect Storm a look, and it sends the files over. " _Thank you. I would like to discuss an alternative explanation for your abilities, though. One that is not quite so otherworldly."_

"I already said Perfect Storm knew all of them before I did, and you were the one who said that capes can't teach other people their tricks," you point out.

" _I did, but there is one exception where powers can be_ _ **learned**_ _. You could be a parahuman yourself. More specifically, a power mimic. It would explain quite a lot,"_ she says to your doubtful expression. " _You presumably spend the majority of your time with Perfect Storm. It shows you a new ability, and after a few times seeing it, your own powers kick in and let you duplicate it. Since you do not spend much time with other capes, not even your own team leader, you have not had a chance to learn their abilities, and as such it looks as though you do not have powers yourself but are instead learning what Perfect Storm teaches you."_

You frown. You spend time with your dad, and you haven't picked up his powers. Is it even possible for someone to be a cape and not know it? Besides, you know what you saw, and you believe what Perfect Storm told you. If it says you're a mage, then that's that. "What about Samantha?" you ask once that idea pops into your head. "I spend plenty of time with her, but I can't turn into an animal or go super fast."

" _If I remember correctly, there is a note in Samantha's dossier stating that she is a Case 53 but denied being one. That excuse could fly when it was assumed that you were a Blaster, but keeping in mind that your staff is Tinkertech?"_ She tilts her face. " _Case 53s are feared and kept at arms' length by the general public, which is extremely unfortunate, but they are still less scary than even the thought of a sapient being created by some mad Tinker. If she happened to be a creation by Perfect Storm, perhaps someone literally designed to be a complement to your own fighting style? I could see your mimicry not working on her._

" _Thankfully, there is an easy way to see who is right,"_ Dragon says before you can react too visibly to her figuring out Samantha's secret origins. " _I can get in touch with the Philadelphia PRT and see if you could arrange an anonymous MRI at Penn Presbyterian for you."_ Your face displays your confusion." _All parahumans have two additional lobes that are not present in normal humans. If you have them, an MRI will find them, and that will further support the idea that you are a Trump of some kind."_

"And when you can't find these lobes?" you press.

" _If we do not find these lobes, then we will have to revisit your claims of magic,"_ admitted Dragon. " _But let us speak of that once we have the results."_

"I'll have to think about it."

Dragon nods. " _I understand. If you decide to go through with it, just send me a message. Now, if you will excuse me, I have video footage to go over. Have a pleasant evening, Calamity."_

"Bye to you, too." The video chat ends once Dragon signs off, and you lean back in your chair. Perfect Storm drifts over to hang itself off your neck, and Samantha nuzzles your hand. "Well," you say with a sigh, "I suppose that could have gone worse."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	38. Emigration 4-10

**Emigration 4.10**

 **Monday, March 28  
** "Miss Smith? We're ready for you."

It takes you a moment to realize that the nurse is talking to you, but you stand from the waiting room chair and make your way over with a sheepish smile. The nurse pays it no mind, instead going through the normal hospital routine. Weight, height, blood pressure, heart rate. Once all the gadgets have been put away, she gives you a sideways look. "You recruits just keep getting younger and younger."

You look away and give her a little shrug. You initially wondered how Dragon had managed to square away this appointment in only a couple of days, but the information packet you picked up from the Protectorate base instead of going to school for the day explained quite a bit. This is apparently standard procedure for anyone who applies to join the PRT; just as you were told when you first tried to register the Privateers as a hero group, the Protectorate is for parahumans while the PRT is for unpowered humans, and never the twain shall meet. If somebody wants to be in the PRT, she needs to prove that she isn't a cape.

All that being the case, it still strikes you as a bad sign that this woman already knows that the PRT sent you here, even if she's wrong on the why. Then again, you'd have trouble finding a name much more pseudonym-y than 'Jane Smith'.

"I'm not sure I'm allowed to talk about it."

"If you don't want to, you don't have to. If you're just worried about violating confidentiality, though, you don't need to worry. The PRT and Administration made us sign a stack of NDAs as tall as I am before they would tell us what was going on. Not like they had much of a choice," she adds with a slightly mocking scoff. "It'd look suspicious if a bunch of people submitted release-of-information forms to send radiology records to the PRT, and there's no way they'd get the scans any other way unless they subpoenaed us. But that was taken care of long ago. What department are you applying to?"

After a few seconds of silence, she shrugs and lets it go. "Come this way and change into some scrubs. You don't have to get in a gown, but we need to make sure you don't have any metal on you, so make sure you remove any earrings or other body jewelry before walking in. You don't have any braces, dental posts, or steel surgical clips inside you, do you?"

Several minutes later, you walk into the scanning room, the gigantic upright doughnut of the MRI already humming in mechanical anticipation. "Go ahead and lie down on the table," a man's voice says over the intercom. "You'll need to be as still as possible while we get the images. Try to keep talking to a minimum, but you can swallow and breathe normally. It's going to get a little loud, but just bear with it. This should only take thirty minutes or so."

Thirty minutes. Okay, you can do that. Lying down, you close your eyes as the table slides into the machine. Thirty minutes, and you can show Dragon that your brain is perfectly normal.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

" _How is that even possible?"_

"I'd just like to know what all that means," you yourself pipe up.

The PRT physician sighs and spins around on his stool to look at you rather than his computer screen. "I don't know how much you know about parahuman neuroanatomy, but the gist of it is this. Most people have no hope of becoming a parahuman. Doesn't matter how much they want it, how terrible the worst moment of their lives are, nothing. The small proportion who do have that chance all have an extra lobule located somewhere in their brains named the corona pollentia. Having a corona doesn't guarantee that they'll get powers," he adds, "but it makes it possible. If someone with a corona eventually becomes a cape, they develop a second growth called the gemma. We don't know exactly how these lobes work, but since we've found them in all but the strangest Case 53s, we're very confident they they are necessary for powers to work.

"Your brain, however, is interesting." He turns back to the computer and clicks a few things to pull up a black and white picture. "Look here, between the two halves of the frontal lobe. Do you see this circular structure? That should be your corona, but there's something wrong with it. It's been replaced almost entirely by scar tissue. There isn't any sign of a gemma, either. Frankly, I'm just as stumped as Dragon on how you can have powers with a brain like yours."

The digitized face of the heroine turns to regard you for a long moment. This is definitely a blow to her theory that you're some kind of power-copier, though you're just as surprised that you apparently can _never_ gain powers of your own. Not that it's necessarily a disappointment. If someone came over and offered you the choice between gaining powers and keeping your magic, you'd side with the latter in a heartbeat.

Not to mention, the whole _'get powers at the worst moment of your life'_ thing is kind of off-putting. If living through the locker incident wasn't enough to turn you into a cape, you don't even want to consider how much worse things would have to be for it to happen. Speaking of bad things that could happen…. "It isn't cancer, is it?"

" _What about function?"_ Dragon asks at the same time. " _We cannot rule out the possibility that what looks like scar tissue is actually a gemma growing within the corona. It has never happened before, but that does not mean it could never happen."_

"True, but not in this case." He brings up a colored image which means just as little to you as the grey one did. "The activity is normal in the rest of the brain, but the corona has nothing. That's consistent with scarring, not dense neural tissue. We'd also expect greater blood flow if this were any kind of tumor," he tells you with a gentle smile, "and cancers are rarely symmetrical, which this certainly is. Even these trails, which I can only speculate were once white matter tracts connecting the corona pollentia to the corona radiata – which has nothing to do with parahuman powers despite the similarities in their names – are mirror images of each other. You don't have to worry about that. You're perfectly healthy, neurologically at least."

You shoot Dragon a satisfied expression only to see her mulling something over. " _I would like to recommend one more test before we chalk this up as a strange impossibility,"_ she finally says. " _I understand it is inconsistent with how brain tissue normally works, but this study was, out of necessity, done without you using any of your powers. If we measured neuronal activity while you were on patrol, perhaps using ambulatory EEG, it would give us the most definitive answer."_

The doctor shook his head. "Except an EEG wouldn't tell us where in the brain the activity's coming from. An estimate, sure, but we couldn't prove that it was coming from the corona as opposed to her frontal lobes."

" _Agreed, but if there was a change in signal when she flies or fights compared to baseline mental or physical activity, it would indicate that something activated that hadn't before. Something like an abnormal gemma."_

Looking back at you, he shrugs. "It's up to you, Calamity Witch. I think it would be a waste of your time, but if you want to give it a shot, we can set it up tonight. We just need to know so we can make the calls."

* * *

 **Not necessarily the best break, but I needed to give the players a chance to decide if they were going on patrol and with whom (if anyone).**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	39. Emigration 4-11

**Emigration 4.11**

The ground slips beneath you as you skim the rooftops of the city. Not too fast, not as fast as you can go, but you are definitely covering a lot of ground. A flicker of green skirt catches your eye, and you glance over to see Vista appear out of thin air and vanish just as quickly.

"Hurry up, slowpoke!" she taunts with a laugh from five buildings ahead of you.

Oh she wants to play it like that, does she?

You blaze past her and blow a raspberry, and she responds to that with all the righteous indignation she can muster. The pair of you race each other for a few dozen blocks until she warps in front of you and bodychecks you towards a wall. At that point, the strangest game of tag anyone has ever seen commences.

Several minutes later, Vista sits on the edge of a building and glares at you because unlike her, you aren't huffing and puffing like a train. "Flight is bullshit."

"You know that isn't a word little girls should say," you reply with a syrupy smile. "And I don't think someone with space-warping powers gets to say anything about anyone else's mode of transportation."

She blows that off with a wave of her hand. "I meant to ask before, but where's Samantha? She's the big reason I hang out with you, you know."

Sticking your tongue out earns you a giggle. "She's at home. She _said_ she wanted to give _'us girls'_ a chance to have fun without her hanging around, but I know that isn't the whole reason. It also gives her a chance to be alone with my dad."

"Your partner… has a thing for your dad?"

"Yeeeeeaaah, you could say that. She hasn't been shy about what she wants at all. And I don't think it'd stop at dating or sex." You shudder slightly. Maybe it's because you don't want to give up your mom's place in your heart, or maybe it's because Samantha is someone you created, but her obvious desire for your dad is extremely off-putting sometimes.

Vista seems to get it, and her eyes widen. "Your partner… wants to become your stepmom? That's just a little awkward."

"Yes, I know."

"And it doesn't help that she's a raccoon. I mean, I know she's really a person," she adds hastily, "but she's a _raccoon_."

"Yes, I _know_."

A gleam enters the girl's eyes, one you don't like at all. Nor the smile she soon sports. "Good on your dad if he can see past that, though. Seriously, kudos to him. But still, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure the sweet, gentle love between a man and a raccoon is illegal in most states."

" _What the fuck?!_ "

Vista falls over from laughing even as you glare at her in shock and disgust. No. Just no. She looks at you and laughs even harder. "Keep it up," you bite out. "I'm fully prepared to tell Miss Militia what kind of messed up stuff you're looking at online. Don't think I won't. That's just gross."

It takes the younger heroine a minute to regain her breath. "She won't believe you. The Protectorate wifi blocks porn sites."

You eye her warily. "…I don't even want to know why you know that. You're freaking twelve."

"I'm thirteen!" she retorts, less amused now that she's the one in the hot seat. "And I didn't go looking for it! Clockblocker asked Kid Win once if he could Tinker up something to get around the filter."

Her expression fades slightly at the memories she unintentionally dug up. You aren't really sure what you're supposed to say to her, though. The last time she brought something like this up, she was quite clear that she didn't want to talk about it. She probably won't appreciate you digging into it. On the other hand, she did bring it up, and you remember how uncomfortable it got right after your mom died and everyone hastily changed the subject the instant she was brought up. "Could he?" you finally ask in a tentative voice.

"I don't know. I was already halfway across the base to bug Armsmaster about inventing brain bleach."

"After what you just said, I'm not sympathetic for younger-you in the slightest."

Vista smiles weakly and lets her legs swing back and forth over the ledge. "I miss them. My parents, too, but not as much as I miss my team. Does that make me a bad person?"

And now things are even more awkward than they were.

She doesn't wait for your answer. "It's not like my parents were bad people," she says, "not even bad parents. Not really. They were high school sweethearts who eventually fell out of love. They got divorced when I was ten. It could have been a lot worse. They didn't try to poison me against the other. They didn't use me as a weapon in divorce court. They didn't ignore me or forget about me or anything like that. They just…. They spent so much time and energy fighting each other about the pettiest _shit_ that happened while they were married that when they walked away at the end of each day, they just couldn't put in the effort to care about me or anything and instead just went through the motions. It was like when they divorced, I was left with two babysitters who just looked like my parents. I got more love from the old couple who lived next door to us than I did from them. That's when I Triggered, but I couldn't bridge the distance between me and them no matter how hard I tried.

"They got better eventually, but that brought its own problems." The girl sighs. "They didn't want to be together again, but they still wanted to be my parents. By then, I had been Vista for over a year, and that was the life I was focused on. But my parents didn't want Vista. No, they just wanted little Missy, and they refused to accept that I had already outgrown her and they missed out on it."

After a moment, Vista's words catch up to her, and she looks nervously at you from the corner of her eye. You feel a little hurt that she apparently thinks revealing her name to you will come back to bite her, but you suppose the two of you don't know each other that well. That and the fact your magic does a whole lot more to defend you than the little mask you wear. Still, there's an easy way to reassure her. "Taylor," you offer, giving her a half-smile.

"Let's go just… do something," decides Vista as she stands up. "Something not here. Something not talking about…. Yeah. Where are all the villains? That's why you wanted to patrol together, right? Right."

Well, no, you wanted to patrol to give Dragon that EEG data without which she won't accept the idea of magic, but sure, fighting criminals is why you decided to invite Vista along. You just didn't invite her because you had already planned to turn it into a percussive therapy day. Not that it's a bad idea; Vista sounds like she could use a bit of venting right now. "Sure, why not. Let's find someone to punch in the face until they stop moving."

Vista stares at you for a moment. "I never realized just how well you and Shadow Stalker would have gotten along before now." Shrugging that away, she leads you deeper into the city.

Voices that are doing nothing to keep quiet, accompanied by the sound of glass shattering, eventually grab your attention. The two of you follow the noise to a group of Hispanic men who have broken into a pawn shop and are carrying out their ill-gotten goods. Wait. No, never mind; it just _looked_ like a pawn shop. You're pretty sure pawn shops don't carry big white blocks of cocaine or meth or whatever that stuff is.

Swallowing loudly, Vista's eyes never leave the assault rifles each guy carries. "When I said let's do something, I didn't mean let's pick a fight with the Maras. This might be a little more than we can handle by ourselves."

"Maybe," you allow, "but we can probably take them if we're smart about it. Squealer shot me once with guns a lot bigger than those, and I was fine. I hit them from the front and get their attention, and you go behind and…. Well, shit."

Another man jumps out the broken window, shouting things in Spanish and his underlings hurrying to carry out his orders. Not that you blame them. There's a reason even the PRT is hesitant to cross the Mara Salvatrucha, and it's this cape. If the tattoos that almost completely cover his face weren't recognizable enough, the tactical vest – left open to display more tattoos on his chest and abdomen – with the white outline of a dog on the back would guarantee that absolutely anybody who ran into this cape knew they were in trouble.

Brockton Bay had Lung. Philadelphia has Cadejo.

"We need to go. Now." You look down at Vista, who looks back at you with naked terror painting her face. "Cadejo's killed two Protectorate heroes and a Ward since he came here. He doesn't care about killing capes or cops or anyone. People have talked about sending him straight to the Birdcage, but they can't because nobody's ever managed to arrest him. Everyone who's tried is dead. We need to leave before—"

" _Capotes_ !"

"…they see us."

You look down to find one of the gangsters pointing up at you. A few feet behind him, Cadejo follows his arm and meets your eyes.

Well, _shit_.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	40. Emigration 4-12

**Emigration 4.12**

You level your staff at the Mexican villain who is already starting to turn grey. Time. You need more _time_ , and the spell you learned right after the battle with the Simurgh is perfect for that. "Temporal Sludge!" you scream.

A jet of purplish-black color flashes from the end of your Device and hits Cadejo and his gang a moment later. A bubble of the same color pops into existence before anyone can react and then fades out of sight. Within a good sixty feet, everything has slowed down considerably. It's too bad that actually stopping time is outside your capabilities, but Perfect Storm has told you before that without a Rare Skill, whatever that is, it would take far too much mana to be feasible.

Unfortunately, all slowed time means is you get a better look at how Cadejo's body is distorting, human features melting away and huge eyes and long teeth pushing out from the smoky blur. One, two, three, four heads already, and what looks like another one currently forming.

"You slowed time?! How?!"

"Not the time!" you shout back. "Keep him in there! If he gets out of range, he'll be back to normal speed!"

The buildings slide away from the Mara Salvatrucha as space itself expands far beyond what should be in this stretch of roadway. One corner of your mind thinks that her complaining about a little slowed time is just a touch unreasonable considering her own powers, but then again, she hasn't started flying and hitting like Alexandria, either. Maybe her surprise is less unreasonable in that light.

The rest of your attention is occupied by the spell you're casting. Your orange triangle spreads out beneath you, then it spins around; slowly at first, but it gets faster and faster before exploding into a wave of not-light that sweeps over everything in sight. Colors become muted, and all the gangsters except for Cadejo vanish. They aren't dead, of course. It's just that you pulled the fight into an almost virtual space, a shadow of the real world. The way Perfect Storm explained Recursion Field, it was originally designed to let mages practice new spells without worrying about annihilating whatever was around them. It didn't take long for it to start being used for fights between mages in urban settings, allowing everyone involved to go all out without nearly as much concern about collateral damage. Parahumans aren't mages, but their powers should cause them to be affected the same way mages are rather than ignored like a normal person.

At least, that's the hope. It seems to have worked in this case, anyway.

By now, Cadejo has broken apart into six near-featureless canines of indeterminate breed. You can't even tell if they're dogs or wolves. They take off at third-normal-speed towards the edges of Temporal Sludge's effect, and you notice with not a little distress that they're making better progress than you hoped. "We need more space!"

"I'm trying! Whatever you did is messing with my powers. They're taking longer to work than normal."

…Oh. In hindsight, you should have expected that. Temporal Sludge slows down time itself, so it makes sense that the effects of Vista's powers would also be slower. "If you can't go wide, go deep," you order, floating away from the edge of the building towards the area of effect. You also make sure to stay up in the air. You've heard that Cadejo's dogs can run up walls, but you haven't heard of them flying. Stay up here, and you should be safe. "Turn the whole thing into a pit. I want them all in one place for this."

As the road stops looking like a plain of asphalt and starts looking like an antlion trap, you focus on the next spell you have queued up. This is one you spent a long time practicing in the simulator, but it's the first time you're casting it in real life. "All right, Storm," you breathe, "let's hit him with everything we've got."

« _Agreed, Mistress. Target lock. Firing solution calculated. Begin ignition sequence._ »

Sparks leap from the red jewel and gather together just in front of the tines. A wave of heat, and the tiny fireball, smaller than a single Flare Shooter, expands into something the size of your head. Yellow and orange and red, it looks like a miniature sun; it even has black sunspots and scaled down flares slamming back into its corona. In any other circumstance, you would think it pretty.

« _Ready to fire_.»

Glancing down to find the dogs at the edge of Temporal Sludge's effect and starting to climb up the walls Vista created, you nod to yourself. They're still close enough to hit with one shot. Your staff moves to point at the middle of the pit, and an ugly snarl crosses your face. It's time for bullies to taste the fear they all spend so much of their time spreading.

"Solar. WRATH!"

The sun explodes. A cone of orange and red flame shoots out, blocking your view of the targets from the sheer size. Behind you, Vista gasps or shouts or something. You can't exactly hear her over the roar of your fury made manifest.

Two seconds pass, then three, and the spell peters out. Smoke wafts up from the edges of the Ward's crater, and the asphalt farther in is actually molten and oozing downwards. A hemispherical firestorm still rages in the very center where your spells are interacting. If this spell weren't set to nonlethal, nothing short of Alexandria and the Endbringers would have survived.

But the six dogs still stand, and they're still running to get free of Vista's prison.

By now the dogs are far enough away from each other than your patrol partner can't drag them all together again, and that means another Solar Wrath is out of the question. Flare Shooter it is, then. Vista seems to catch on to what you're doing, and instead of focusing on the whole group, she goes after one or two at a time. The dogs find themselves running at each other, and between her twisted space and your homing bullets, you would normally have no trouble corralling the canines.

You realize what went wrong with Solar Wrath when your bullets zip through their insubstantial forms. Just turning into dogs is not that great of a power, but when those dogs are intangible? It gets a little harder to fend them off. You had hoped that maybe your magic would trump his parahuman powers, but it looks like that's not the case. You do remember that his teeth and claws are physical, though maybe so you try to blast those out of his heads.

No dice there, either. The bullets explode just fine, but while the dogs rear back from the force, they don't do anything else to him.

Now that he knows you can't hurt him, Cadejo must think it's safe to start taunting you. The five dogs aren't even trying to get away anymore, instead weaving through each other, biting your bullets out of the air, and generally showing off just how powerless you are. A Rust Shooter hits the ground at one of their feet, but as expected, it does nothing. Neither the road nor the dog is metallic.

Without warning, they turn around and run. Are they trying to lead you away into a trap, or maybe just split you off from Vista so they can surround you? A definite possibility, but should you follow them, they'll soon learn you aren't some glass cannon. Teeth and claws aren't enough to get through your Barrier Jacket. You conjure some more bullets and send them after the pentad.

Wait.

Didn't Cadejo break apart into _six_ dogs?

Vista's scream of pain and horror spins you around, and you watch her fall off the rooftop, the last dog clamped tight to her left bicep. You rocket downwards, the distance between her and the ground shrinking far too quickly. Even if the fall doesn't seriously injure her, the last thing you want is for Cadejo to get his feet back under him. You grab onto her and whip around, skimming the asphalt and flying back up. The dog is still clamped on, claws scrabbling for purchase and raking through the spandex and skin of her torso in the process. Flare Shooter does nothing, slipping through him like smoke.

Desperate now, you almost send your bullet to explode against his jaw, but before you can do that, his sharp teeth finish their grisly work. Cadejo falls to the ground, a large chunk of Vista's arm still caught between his teeth.

Blood flies in thick spurts with each of her panicked heartbeats. You clamp your hand over the severed artery and fly as fast as you can towards the PRT headquarters, Recursion Field falling apart so you can actually reach it and the people inside it. You don't know first aid; you don't know any healing magic. The most you can do is get Vista to people who _can_ help her before she dies in your arms.

A loud ringing fills your ears for a moment, and then someone picks up the call Perfect Storm made for you. " _Console."_

« _I need a medical team waiting for us when we get there!_ » you scream at the boy hero who picked up. Not Bouncer, which leaves either Flambé or Cherry Bomb. « _We ran into Cadejo! Vista's dying!_ »

* * *

 **There was actually a bit of a kerfluffle regarding this chapter. I let the players come up with their own battle plans, and they voted to take to the skies so as to avoid Cadejo's powers (I gave them a brief synopsis so they weren't fighting totally blind). Unfortunately, during their discussion they mentioned taking Vista up in the air with them, but that wasn't included in the actual vote, and I forgot they even talked about it until very late in the writing process. Vista was originally slated to die because Cadejo does not give a shit about holding back and playing the "game", but I instead changed my plans to have her merely be critically injured. And they still weren't exactly happy about that compromise, but what can you do?**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	41. Emigration 4-13

**Emigration 4.13**

 **Friday, April 1  
** "Look, I'm just really not in the mood to go to this thing anymore."

"All the more reason you should go," Samantha says. "You were actually getting excited about this until Monday happened."

You pin the Guardian Beast with a look. "Gee, I wonder why. Who would have thought that almost getting a kid killed would put a damper on my mood?"

She sighs and sits down on the bed next to you. One arm goes around your shoulders, and you lean into the embrace. "What happened to Vista was terrible. The fact that the Protectorate has closed ranks around her and won't let anyone who isn't an official PRT hero see her makes things worse. But the rest of your life can't just stop. Especially not with this. Is a single party important in the grand scheme of things?" she asks when you whip your head around to stare at her in shock. "Of course not. But what _is_ important is that it is a dividing line between the you who is Taylor Hebert and the you who is Calamity Witch. The latter persona has better things to do than go to a high school party, but I think it would be good for the former to go.

"I worry about you, you know. I know that finding Storm and becoming a mage was an escape for you, a way to get away from your bullies, and make no mistake that I don't appreciate that. I wouldn't exist were it not for the two of you meeting. But I don't want Calamity Witch to consume your life until you have nothing else."

"I worry about you, too, kiddo." Both of you turn to find your dad leaning against the doorframe. "If you eventually decide you want cape work as a full-time job, that's your decision, but I'd prefer it if you at least experienced what being a teenager and a young adult is like before you make that choice. Looking forward to this is the most normal teenage thing you've done in months. As much as dads aren't supposed to want their high school daughters at parties where I already know there won't be any parents around, I really do think you should go."

Facing a united front like this, you hold up your hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I'll go to the party. And if someone spikes the punch and I get insanely drunk, I don't want to hear a word about it when I get home."

"Oh, I'd never yell at you for getting drunk right after you get back," he says with a smile. "Any and all underaged drinking lectures wait until the morning after when you're nice and hungover."

Samantha claps her hands. "And since you're going, I have the perfect thing for you to wear."

You share a frightened look with your dad. This… could be an issue. You still remember some of the things Samantha first suggested she could wear as her 'official' costume before you talked her around to the suit. Fishing around under your bed of all places, your Guardian Beast pulls out a white box and opens it up. "Ta-da!"

"What the hell is that?!"

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

An hour later, a car horn honks outside your apartment, and you peek through the curtains. Kayleigh's here and waiting for you. Great. You had actually hoped she might have forgotten her promise – made over your objections, of course – to swing by and pick you up on her way to the party. Anything to avoid being seen in this stupid getup.

"No wiggling out of this now," Samantha tells you with unholy glee, grabbing you by one arm and physically pulling you towards the door. "You told your friend that you were going to go, and you told us you were going to go. You're going. Have fun!"

The door slams in your face and locks.

You glare at the sheet of wood, wishing your powers included laser eyes, or even just telekinesis. As you are, though, the door withstands your assault. Resigning yourself to the humiliation, you walk down the stairs.

Kayleigh stares at you when you first come into view, but then she laughs and gives you a teasing wolf whistle. "That's one way to get the guys' eyes on you! I hope those are as hard to get off as they look, or you might just spend the whole night bottomless if you let 'em have their way."

"They were certainly hard enough to get on," you grumble. Where did Samantha go to buy a pair of black latex pants in your size? _Why_ did she buy them? You don't know the answer to either of those questions. Between them, the soft grey poncho-like shirt, and a pair of strappy heels, you definitely look like you're headed out for a night on the town. Because trendy club-hopper is just so you. Worse, the same aspect of Perfect Storm's 'upgrades' that let you walk around in your Barrier Jacket without tripping over yourself seems to extend to ungainly outfits like this, so now even your magic is conspiring against you.

You know from little comments Kayleigh's dropped that her dad brings in a ton of money doing whatever it is he does, so it doesn't surprise you that she drives an expensive-looking convertible. It's a little more of a surprise that she's driving with the top down even though the temperature is still only in the forties, but you don't have any room to make an issue of that. One of the best parts of chucking fireballs around is that your magic keeps you nice and toasty. There's no other way you'd go flying around in the middle of winter in a miniskirt.

Reaching the car, you plant your hand on the edge of the door and flip over it into the passenger seat. It's only while you're buckling yourself in that you remember there's a reason you haven't shown off like this in front of your classmates.

The redhead immediately squeals. "Oh, you are _so_ trying out for cheerleader next year. Why didn't you say you were a gymnast? I had English with Tasha last semester, and she was always griping about how nobody who tried out was flexible enough to do anything. All you'd have to do is show off a couple of things, flips and somersaults and stuff, and I just know she'd let you on the team…"

Well, at least she isn't assuming you're a cape.

Kayleigh's excited babble fills the air for the entire drive out of Philly proper and into one of the many suburbs. Taking the time to sit back and _not_ think about how worried you are about one of your four familiar faces in this town being seriously, critically injured, you let her words wash over you. It only takes a murmured hum or 'Yeah' to get her going again, and even if you aren't actually paying her any attention, it's still soothing in a way. You aren't much of a talker, and your dad? Ha! You get it from him. Samantha's the most talkative out of all of your little family, but that's only in comparison to the two of you.

It's nice having her around, honestly, more than just having someone to rely on with hero work. She fills the spot that's been empty since your mom died, the one who got the majority of your conversations rolling and holds everyone together. You never had that knack, though not for lack of trying when you were little; maybe if you had stayed the motormouth you were before your mom's death and Emma's betrayal and everything else, that would be different, but things are what they are. No point in dreaming of what could have been.

Eventually, Kayleigh pulls up to a well-lit house whose driveway is already packed full of different cars, shiny Beamers and Mercedes and even a brand new Audi setting next to Honda Civics and dusty Santa Fes. Parking in an empty patch of grass, she steps out; you, on the other hand, show off just a little and pull off a twisty half-flip-half-airborne-somersault that is only possible with a touch of flight.

You immediately after rearrange your shirt so you aren't showing off quite so much. What made that blasted raccoon think this would ever be a good idea?

The boom of a huge stereo system, already audible from outside, drowns about just about all other sound as you make your way inside the house. From the wild gyrations of the crowd over on the impromptu dance floor that's taken over what looks like a formal dining room, that's exactly the way they like it. Almost out of sight, you can just barely make out more people sitting around on couches in the living room and presumably watching a movie. In a different direction is a row of tables covered with red plastic cups, and you shake your head in disappointment. The beverage may get better and more expensive, but beer pong is beer pong. Another table is nearby and supports a single large bowl of undoubtedly spiked punch. If you want to make your threat to your dad reality, here's your chance. The only issue there is that a large portion of the football team, at least whoever isn't involved in a pong game, has clustered around it, and several of them are staring at you in disdain.

"You could at least give them a little smile," Kayleigh hisses at you, smile never leaving her face. "Everyone knows Charlie likes you, but you look like you're about to run off and hide in a corner. That's not how you catch a guy, Taylor."

Wait, what? Charlie, as in Charlie the star running back? He likes _you_? When did that become a thing?

"Oh my God, you didn't know?" she nearly squeals. "That's just precious. Go talk to him! Go go go!"

"I don't know," you mutter, doing your best to ignore her suggestion. Looking around for literally any other topic, your eyes alight on somebody who doesn't look at all like everyone else around. Too scruffy, too dirty. He looks almost like he's coming off a week-long bender and getting ready for an encore. "Who's he?"

Kayleigh follows your gaze and wrinkles her nose. "Ugh. Why the hell did Greg invite _him_? Oh, right. Greg's cousin got into the whole Duster thing, and now he has to keep her dealer happy or whatever." She looks embarrassed after a moment, which is the first time you've ever seen that particular expression on her face. "But you didn't hear that from me, okay? I mean, everybody knows it, but he doesn't like people bringing it up. He's kinda ashamed of it, you know?"

"Sure, right. Sworn to silence. And the _'Duster thing'_ is… what exactly?"

"Something you want to stay away from. I'm serious." She looks it, too, gazing up at you with slightly narrowed eyes. "People say Angel Dust's stuff isn't addictive, but it that was true, he wouldn't have as many repeat customers as he does, would he? People can have some awful trips off the stuff he sells, like tear themselves up so bad they have to go to the hospital bad, and that's just the hallucinogens. The uppers, the downers; they work either super good and make you feel wonderful or super bad and send you into a nightmare from what I hear. Don't get into that shit."

…Uh, well then. That was certainly… vehement. You want to ask her just what it is about this stuff that set her off like this, but then you reconsider. You don't actually know much about Kayleigh's family; it's entirely possible that she had a family member or close friend who got caught in the Winter Hill Gang's drug Tinker's web and suffered like she described as a consequence. That's a wound that's best left undisturbed.

Taking a deep breath, the other girl wipes the forbidding expression off her face and replaces it with her more casual smile. "Oh, there's Marcia! I gotta talk to her about some stuff. And _you_ have a boyfriend to snag." Her smile turns sharp. "Maybe those pants were the right choice after all, huh?"

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	42. Emigration 4-14

**Emigration 4.14**

Your eyes turn to follow the Duster's path, but then you look away. As suspicious as the drug dealer is, this isn't something that really needs hero intervention, and anyway, didn't your dad and Samantha all but demand this be a night for Taylor, not Calamity? You're off the clock per parental edict.

That said, flirting with some football jock, especially wearing skintight fetish-gear-y pants? There aren't enough nopes in the world. Between Samantha's questionable fashion choices, spiked punch, and hormones, you just know you'd wake up naked with him in the bathtub or something. Screw that, not happening, no way.

Maybe you could follow Kayleigh? She's the most familiar person here. True, you don't care about gossip, but it would be better than just standing around like an idiot. The only problem there is that she's already walked off, and while you can still see her making her way towards the outdoor patio, it would make you look desperate not to be left alone. She… probably isn't enough like Emma to use that against you, but you've already had one best friend turn around and make your life a living hell with all the secrets you told her. Kayleigh isn't that close – deep inside, you worry that you'll never let anyone in that far again – but there's no need to tempt fate. She'd probably treat you even more like a little animal that needs someone to care for it than she already does if you chased after her, too, and you've spent the last couple of weeks trying to make her _stop_ doing that. This is the first bit of peace and quiet you've had at any school-related event since you enrolled at Winterrose Academy! Are you really going to throw that glorious bit of freedom away?

That just leaves you with just two options, doesn't it? You glance over at the dance floor, and then at the living room and movie-watchers. You know which place you _want_ to go, no doubt about that, but….

You look down at the offensive outfit again. This is so not you. You'd never wear anything like this normally, and you and your dad both thought your Guardian Beast was completely insane when she suggested it. But going to a party like this isn't you, either. It's one of the reasons you wanted to go.

You've been given a chance to reinvent yourself here. No one, absolutely _no one_ , knows who you are here. Not even the other Brocktonites who enrolled at your new school know you, seeing as they were previously Immaculata and Arcadia students. You've been given the chance to throw off the last traces of Winslow-era Taylor, to break the few lengths of chain that survived your metamorphosis into Calamity Witch and becoming a hero and burning your own path through the world. You aren't going to pretend to be a social butterfly or a giggling fashion queen, but you're rediscovering yourself. That sometimes means trying something new even if you think you'll make a total fool of yourself. Still….

« _Hey, Storm?_ _Do you know how to dance?_ »

« _Dancing is not in my protocols,_ » the blue jewel hanging around your neck replies. « _However, Mistress's parameters were updated during template installation to emulate predecessor. Coordination, balance, dexterity. Necessary parameters for dance. Calamity Witch origin could da— could dance?_ »

« _How would you know if…?_ » Your eyes widen. « _Storm. Are you recovering your memories?!_ »

« _…Undetermined._ »

You wrap your fingers around your Device and give it a comforting squeeze. After finding out that the _Agharti's_ radio wasn't a computer, you had feared that you would never be able to offer your Device, your friend, the chance to relearn exactly who it had been before crash-landing on Bet. If it's remembering its past?

That's a wonderful, wonderful thing.

Making up your mind, you walk over to the dance floor. Okay. You're going to dance. Easy. How the hell do you even do that? Ignoring the guys, you instead focus on the girls and how they're moving. All you have to do is do the same thing everyone else is doing, right? Jumping in time with the music and shaking your butt and non-existent tits can't be that hard.

You slip through the people at the edge of the crowd and into the mass of bodies. Fewer people to see you make a fool of yourself this way. The music blasts again, and you jump with everyone else and start copying a gaggle of girls a few feet away after swiftly checking that they aren't the only ones doing whatever this is. Your hips bump into somebody, and you offer the guy you hit an apologetic smile. He takes this as an invitation, and soon you're scooting away from his attempts to grind up against you. Thanks but no thanks, buddy.

The song ends, and a few seconds later another one comes on, this even poppier and bubblier than the last. Everyone cheers and claps their hands, and the dancing changes abruptly and leaves you doing the same dance a couple of seconds too long. No one seems to notice, thankfully, and you bob on the balls of your feet a couple of times before you try to emulate them. This is a bit more of an active dance, or maybe it's just that the other girls you're watching are willing to have more fun, because the group splits apart and starts slide-skipping around the dance floor in different directions. One girl with blue-dyed hair makes her way in your direction, astonishingly steady on her feet considering the stench of booze that surrounds her, and then she's wheeling around and writhing in front of you. A panicked glance reveals that yes, all her friends are doing something similar and yes, some of them are dancing with other girls, too.

Well, you guess this is how this dance is done?

You match blue girl's movements as best you can, but thanks to her drunkenness and your awkwardness, you aren't entirely in sync. She doesn't mind your accidental contacts. Not in the slightest, for when the music changes once more, she grabs ahold of your hand and drags you back towards the rest of her group. Then you have an armful of party girl again, her hair slapping into your face and bringing a strong whiff of strawberries and something not quite like licorice—

Huh? You sniff again. No, it doesn't. It just smells like flowery perfume and alcohol. Why do you expect that particular smell?

The music booms on, and after several more dances you manage escape to the edge of the crowd near a wall of wide windows. Your feet are sore, your legs and arms burn, and your skin glistens with sweat, but what worries you most is the tight, giddy feeling in your chest. You need a bit of a break to calm down.

The glass is fogged up by the cold air without and the radiant body heat within, but the windows are still clear enough for you to catch movement in the night, black sliding against black. You wipe a circle clean and peer out. Dark fur atop hulking, malformed figures, long and thick arms ending in sharp claws. Rats; not the normal kind, but the crazy Case 53s you fought with Samantha and Vista. The kind that tried to kill and eat you.

What the hell are they doing here of all places?! You're miles outside the city proper!

You aren't the only one to notice them, and screams start coming from the nearby patio as people see the monsters running towards them. Their intent is as obvious as it is malevolent. Your blood runs cold while you calculate the odds in the back of your mind. There aren't any other capes here, and you're too far away from the city to wait for backup. It's just you, the Rats, and nearly a hundred potential victims.

One way or another, the Grim Reaper will be busy tonight.

* * *

 **At first I was going to have the Rats jump through the glass onto the dance floor, but even** _ **I**_ **think that would be a little too dark.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	43. Emigration 4-15

**Emigration 4.15**

You think but for a moment before you're running away from the window. The urge to go out there right now even with everyone watching is incredibly strong; every second you waste is a second the Rats can get closer to the innocent bystanders. What holds you back is the knowledge that it isn't just you your mask protects. Dad may be a cape, but he's a Master who's otherwise extremely squishy. All it would take for someone to kill him is to stand more than sixteen feet away and shoot him. Sam…. Okay, Sam doesn't have a secret identity other than your roommate/your dad's live-in girlfriend depending on who you ask, and she's tougher than you are, so unmasking here and now wouldn't actually put her in any danger. You still have to think about your dad, though, and also the fact that once that cat's out of the bag, there's no putting it back in. It would be on social media within a second, and any chance of either of you having a normal life would be gone forever.

No, you need somewhere safe, isolated, in which to transform. Thankfully the entire process takes only a few moments, but you still feel guilty about it.

Dining room. Den. Bathroom with a guy and girl hastily pulling their pants up. Where's an empty room when you need it? Glancing up and down the hallways, you come up empty, but now the screams are getting louder and you can hear the heavy footfalls of everybody who's running away from the beasts. Even once you transform, that's still a lot of Rats. You're going to need some help.

« _Storm, dial the PRT. Now!_ »

« _Aye, Mistress. Call initiated._ »

" _This is the PRT emergency hotline. Please—"_

« _Those rat–Case 53–things are attacking!_ » you all but scream at the poor woman. « _I've got a hundred high schoolers here, and I'm the only cape around! Get me some backup!_ »

For a brief instant, you're worried that her silence means she's going to blow you off, but she quickly replies, " _Name and address?"_

You hang up as soon as you've passed on the information, and then you find the pantry just off the kitchen. Not as big as you'd like, nor as isolated, but everyone in the kitchen's already running away, too. It should work.

A flash of orange, and you're out the door again. The window ahead of you shatters, and you make a note to apologize to the owners if you get a chance before you rise into the sky and take in the scene. In the time it took you to find a place to change, the Rats reached the patio, and already there are people unmoving on the ground while others are within range of the Rats' claws. That makes things… complicated.

The thought of casting Recursion Field briefly crosses your mind, but you aren't so sure that would be a good idea. On the one hand, Cadejo was pulled in, and if you can pull all the monster capes into an alternate dimension, that would save everyone. On the other hand, if you're wrong? All you'd do is take yourself out of the action for however long it took to break the barrier down.

No, what you need is more _time_.

"Temporal Sludge!"

The purplish-black bullet flies out, not to the killing scene but instead to the middle of the swarm. Once it explodes into the dome of slowed time, you smile faintly. That will give you the edge you need. Now it's time to show these Rats just who they're messing with. "Storm? Live fire."

« _Fire at will!_ »

The Flare Shooters you form now are special. They aren't any larger than their fellows, nor a different color, but they're all lacking a very important piece of code: the part that makes them safe to fling around carelessly around civilians. These are completely lethal. A twirl of your staff, and you send them flying. The bullets slow down once they enter the field, but since you aimed at the leading edge, they don't exactly have far to travel, and the slo-mo view is spectacular. The orange spheres hit the black Rats, and instead of knocking their heads back like last time, their skulls cave inwards in a flash of light. Blood, bone, and brain splatter the fur of their neighbors.

The wounded teenagers you just saved are quick to take advantage of the opportunity you gave them and flee, stumbling a little at the transition between time but then resuming their run for their lives. You, meanwhile, keep shooting, working your way from front to back—

Okay, where did all the ice come from?

A perfect circle of frost has appeared in the middle of the swarm, spiraling spikes just a little less than your own gangly height popping up everywhere inside and trapping the monsters. A moment later, the pillars explode and rip the Rats to ribbons. With the ground cleared, you can just make out a tiny bright blue sparkle that spreads out into a slow-growing circle. You recognize this effect now. You have never seen it in person, a fact you are happy about, but you have heard it described and seen video of it. This is the work of Cailleach, one of Winter Hill's newer capes. She is fairly young, isn't she? No one has ever come out and said how old she is, but she could very well be high school age. And considering she's pulling out her wide-area burst instead of her faster cone-shaped blast, she wasn't expecting any trouble, either. You glance around, but you don't see anyone standing around, just more proof that the cold-hearted villainess is out of costume.

Gang backup isn't exactly what you had in mind, but you'll take whatever you can get.

The Rats once again show their less-than-human intelligence and do not run out of the clearly marked ground zero, and you aim your bullets at a group that is not about to get shredded. Hey, if they want to make your job easier, fine by you.

Movement towards the previous blast-zone catches your attention. Maybe the Rats weren't alone. They don't have brightly colored Slimes with them this time, but there are a small number of grey... You don't really know what to call these things. Spiders, maybe. Swollen abdomens, but marginally more human-like torsos, still with eight legs except that the legs end in deformed hands. Their heads are the worst part: overlarge human skulls covered in chitin and with four glistening black eyes shoved randomly into the bald pate. One lays a hand - and oh, does it gall you to call that _thing_ a hand! - on the body of a Rat, a flat sound coming from its mouth. If these things actually _mourn_ each other, you're going to have an issue.

Thankfully for your sanity and conscience if not the battle itself, that is not what the Spider is doing. The monstrosity is surrounded by a purple halo the same color as your Temporal Sludge spell, and then the Rat's body blurs. It slides upwards and around to get to its feet before solidifying back into a normal, _living_ Rat.

Temporal Sludge chooses that moment to reach its forty-second limit. The bubble of altered space flashes and dissolves.

Well, that's just wonderful. Mark seven of the Spiders. Swing your staff to launch Flare Shooter. Mark another group while you shape the mana and fling another Temporal Sludge. Fire Flare Shooter. Numbers and symbols dance behind your eyes, and a dull throbbing takes up residence between your temples. You know this feeling, have felt it more than once during your training scenarios. Perfect Storm has an amazing degree of computing power, but the programs that make up your spells are enormous, and it still has to offload some of the processing to you. You can only handle a few spells running at a time before your brain starts to strain, and you aren't as familiar with Temporal Sludge as you are with Flare Shooter or your flight spell. With time once more on your side, you resume full-speed firing and wish for just a moment that you had some kind of machine gun alteration for Flare Shooter. Bullets that home in on their targets are all well and good, but right now you'd dearly love raw quantity.

Your and Cailleach's powers have very distinctive appearances, so when another Rat falls to the ground without getting hit by either fireball or ice bomb, you are understandably confused. You become less so when a sound not unlike a cannon rings out and another actually explodes.

Reinforcements have arrived.

A motorcycle's roar can now be heard, and a single headlight speeds into view. You shake your head when the heroes jump a nearby hedge, bullets flying even as they soar through the air. Of course you can trust Miss Militia to make an appearance that would not be out of place in an action movie. Her passenger jumps off, and the oddly shaped gun Chevalier holds reforms into a long sword that slices cleanly through a Rat's neck.

The patriotic heroine's power becomes a pair of submachine guns that she fires into the crowd away from where Philadelphia's literal knight in shining armor stands, and you refocus your efforts on blowing away the closest edge of monsters, even at the expense of renewing the effects of Temporal Sludge. Between the three of you, you finally make headway in culling the crowd, even if Cailleach is holding back her own contributions. She likely does not want to give the Protectorate even that much of a clue about her identity. You slowly descend when the numbers become manageable, and your feet touch the ground after the last Rat falls.

The stench from the rapidly rotting corpses is disgusting, but you pick your way through the growing puddles towards the adult heroes. "I'd say you took long enough," you begin with undisguised suspicion as the pieces start falling together, "but I know it wasn't that long ago that I called the PRT. A few minutes at most. There's no way you drove all the way from Philly to here in that time, I don't care how fast you were driving. You were in the area already. And the Rats and Spiders; they're a long way from home, too."

Chevalier shares a look with Miss Militia and steps backwards a few steps; that done, he gives you a nod before turning away and tapping his helmet over his ear. She shoots his back a mild glare before walking closer. As she approaches, you spot scratches and cuts all along her fatigues, yet more evidence in support of your suspicions. "We've been hunting this pack for the last several hours," she confirms. "We had them on the run, but we lost them a little while ago and were still searching when we got your message. That told us where they all ran off to."

"You were hunting them down?" you repeat. Something doesn't add up here. "What are they doing? Where are they all coming from? What aren't you telling me?"

Miss Militia opens her mouth but stops before saying anything. With a glance around, she shakes her head. "Now isn't the time or place, Calamity. This needs to be handled cautiously. Let me get some things squared away, and then I'll tell you what I can, okay?"

Taking a step back, both physically and emotionally, you nod. No matter what this steaming pile of shit really is, it's probably best to talk about it when you aren't coming down from the adrenaline rush of a fight. You and Samantha can confront her about it later—

Oh. Oh, no. You forgot to tell Samantha about the attack. She is going to be _so_ pissed.

Swallowing the terror of that impending lecture – because she's astonishingly good at the mom-voice for someone who's only been a person for nine weeks – you float back up into the air and let Miss Militia continue on with whatever else she has to do. Once you're sure she's out of earshot, you look around at the empty windows. The other cape is long gone, probably ran as soon as the heroes arrived, but just in case…. "Cailleach. Thanks."

Zipping around the side of the house, you hit the ground and dismiss your Barrier Jacket. Most everyone has already left, you note with some approval, even if it does put a bit of a crimp in your travel plans. Thankfully, you recently figured out Samantha's teleporting trick, so that's just a couple of seconds—

"Taylor!" You turn to find Kayleigh running towards you. You barely get a greeting out before she pounces, wrapping her arms around you like a python. "Oh my god I was so worried I couldn't find you where the hell were you I was sure those monster things got you and you were going to get eaten because you weren't with the football team and I asked Charlie but he said you were off dancing but there were so many people and you weren't by the car and—"

"Breathe, Kayleigh! And I need to breathe, so let go." You manage to pry her off enough to slip her grasp. You are somewhat perversely glad that she likes you enough to be worried about you, but between gratitude and air, you prefer air. "I found a bathroom to hide in until everything quieted down. Why are you still here? I thought everybody would be long gone."

She stares at you like you've gone mad before putting her hands on her hips. "Taylor Hebert, do you really think I'd just go off and leave you behind with all that shit going down? Hell to the no! I was going to stay here until you were in that seat beside me."

A faint smile alights on your face, and you surprise yourself and her both when you reach over and give her a hug of your own accord. "Thanks, Kayleigh. Really. I appreciate it."

"If you're that surprised I'd stick around, your old friends were shit," she mutters into your shoulder. You probably weren't supposed to hear that. Giving you another squeeze, she latches on to your hand and drags you towards her car. "If your dad's anything like mine, he'll probably go out of his mind if he hears you weren't the first one out the door. Let's get our stories straight so they can't call each other and find out we were so late getting out of here."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	44. Emigration 4-a

**Jack Inqu, Mingyu:** You aren't the only ones who think Cailleach might be Kayleigh. The players themselves seem almost definite that this is the case. Whether you're _right_ or not is another story… :)

* * *

 **Emigration 4.a**

 **Sunday, April 3  
** Rebecca's eye focused on nothing while she drummed her fingers on her desk. Chief Director Costa-Brown had so much still to do, so much work that had piled up while Alexandria was off in Los Angeles, but despite the files sitting in front of her, her attention strayed again and again to the puzzle that had rooted itself firmly in her head.

The window opened, and she glanced over in surprise. Thankfully for her visitor, she held back from immediately lashing out. "I thought I told you to call ahead if you were coming here."

"Perhaps I just like surprising you."

"Most people who surprise me wind up getting thrown through a wall," she reminded the blue-suited cape. "Generally more than one."

"If you figure out how to hurt light, I might even let you," replied Legend with a laugh. "Not that you're the only one surprised. You're normally much more careful with keeping the connection between your identities separate, but right now, you aren't even trying to hide it. Is something the matter?"

She reached up to touch the plain eyepatch cover her empty left socket. "Everyone already knows I always have a lot of paperwork to catch up on and that they aren't to disturb me on Sundays for anything less that the literal end of the world. Not that anyone would _want_ to talk," she added with a small, bitter smile. Sundays were peaceful around the head office of the PRT, in large part because no one with any sense wanted to come in to work on the weekend. It was one of the reasons she liked doing this: with the building staffed by a skeleton crew, no one came by to bother her as she worked through the report that constantly accumulated.

Well, that and the fact that her office was more familiar and inviting than her empty apartment. Free weekends meant little when she was the only one around.

Her memory and conscience joined forces to prod her at that thought. True, she did not _have_ to be alone this weekend. Her parents had called with a special invitation to come to dinner the previous night and wish her baby sister luck on her fourth attempt at wedded bliss. A wish that would have been wasted considering Michelle's atrocious taste in men. Rebecca knew he was yet another brainless, aimless gym rat even before the background check. Not that she would have been welcome, anyway. One of the downsides of perfect memory and the ability to read micro-expressions was that the veiled distaste her siblings and siblings-in-law held for her might as well have been shouted in her face. It had made Thanksgiving five years previous incredibly awkward, enough that it was actually the last family event she had attended.

"And that ties into your eyepatch how?" he prodded.

She sighed and looked down at the small box sitting on one corner of the desk in which her glass eye rested. It was a necessary evil to keep her dual roles separate, yet that knowledge strangely did nothing to change the fact that indestructibility and surgical implants did not mix. Tinkertech might be a nice alternative, but it also required maintenance and posed a high risk for somebody outside the Triumvirate discovering the truth. Instead, she had to make do with the awkward solution she had eventually worked out, no matter how barbaric it seemed at times. "The clips broke sometime during my fight with Juggernaut. I haven't had a chance to replace them, and I can't go around with one eye hanging out."

"Ah," he said with a nod, no more eager to hear the details of its design than he had been when she first figured it out. "That would explain things."

"Explain things?"

He rolled his shoulders in a languid shrug. "Rime called me. She was worried that you've been a little… _off_ lately. Not in a bad way," he added hastily, "but more like you're preoccupied. She was hoping I could figure out what's wrong."

"Rime worries too much." He smiled at her flat tone, unaware that she was not joking in the slightest. If she had realized how much of a mother hen Rime would turn into upon promotion to her second-in-command, she seriously would have considered someone else. Unfortunately – or, more likely, fortunately – Rime was also very good at her job, so she had no grounds upon which to demote her.

"Maybe, but you do seem a little stressed." Pulling off his mask, Michael sat in the chair in front of her desk. "You know you can tell me and David anything, right? If you need help, all you have to do is ask."

The words _'I'm fine'_ settled with familiar weight on her tongue, but she hesitated at the last second. No, she did not need any help of the variety he intended, but maybe he could provide something more useful. "Do you have time to be a sounding board? There's something I'd like a second opinion about."

He blinked, surprise written across his face in bold lettering. "Of course," he replied, his voice far more eager than she ever would have expected. Was he truly that excited to help? Or was it more that he had offered his help time and time again only to be rebuffed and so was overjoyed that she was finally accepting? "What's up?"

"I recently received a rather interesting report from Philadelphia. Dragon was discussing something with Calamity Witch, the same Tinker who sent us the document regarding the Simurgh's telepathy, and set up an appointment for Calamity Witch to get an MRI of her brain. From what I can read between the lines, there was some debate over whether or not her powers were actually magic."

Michael let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "Another Myrddin, huh? I like the guy, I really do, and maybe his powers really do require him to meditate and carve on his staff, but I have to deal with all the complaints that get sent in about his eccentricities. Did this newbie finally get convinced she sounded crazy?"

She raised her eyebrows and pushed the stack of papers away. There was no way she was going to get through this right now. "The relevant portion of the MRI makes for interesting reading. _'Also noted is a spherical lobule approximately 2 centimeters in diameter located between the frontal lobes on the superior aspect. This area is similar to other instances of the corona pollentia and has a higher than expected attenuation. No findings of the gemma lobe found in active parahumans. Bilateral tracts mirroring the course of the corona radiata show similar features. Low fMRI readings in setting of hyperattenuation indicates sclerosis as opposed to inflammatory process, but clinical correlation is recommended.'_ "

"And for those of us who didn't go to medical school and can't memorize textbooks at a glance?" he asked in an amused voice.

"It means she had a corona and possibly could have triggered. _Had_ ," she stressed. "Now it's scarred down. Without a gemma, she didn't trigger, and now she likely never can."

"But how can she be a Tinker if she didn't—" He caught on quickly enough and frowned. "Someone following in Saint's footsteps and stealing Tinkertech? Except Saint was one of Teacher's thralls; that's likely the reason he can use and modify Dragon's designs. Without a Tinker or Thinker power, someone would have needed to teach her how to use her weapons."

"And that someone would most likely be its creator. My thoughts exactly. But let's look at the powers themselves. Flight, pyrokinesis, corrosion projectiles, protective forcefields, and enhanced durability that in hindsight is more likely a second forcefield. A more recent report adds both a spatial warping power and a temporal warping power. And we can't forget the most impressive talent, rendering herself immune to the Simurgh. This would be incredible coming from someone who had to carry half a dozen massive devices with them." Rebecca gave him a tight smile. "All Calamity Witch has is a mechanical staff."

"Armsmaster could do something like that," Michael pointed out.

"Putting all those inventions into a single package? Agreed. What he could _not_ do, though, is design everything else. Miniaturization grants understanding of neither energy manipulation nor spatiotemporal shenanigans. It would take a Tinker with a power lightyears beyond either Dragon or Hero to have even a slim hope of success."

A sigh preceded his nod of agreement. "Then it wasn't one Tinker. There were three, all working in collaboration."

"Five. Maybe six."

"How do you figure that?"

"Three like you said. A fourth who designed whatever protects her from the Scream. Maybe a fifth who destroyed her corona provided number four couldn't. And finally the bio-Tinker who created her bodyguard."

He blinked in confusion. "Bodyguard?"

"Officially a Case 53, raccoon-changer with multiple powers. Close range combatant. The only problem is she isn't one of ours. I know every 53 we ever made: their appearances, their powers, everything. We never made one who looked like her." She leaned back in her chair. "And most damning of all, she has the same immunity Calamity Witch has. I have a hard time believing two independent Tinkers stumbled onto something as valuable as this independently."

"There's just one problem with your theory," he told her. That comment received a curious look. Had he reached the same conclusion she had? She hoped not; that would get her nowhere. "Let's assume you're right. Six Tinkers, two of them with truly incredible powers and none of them anybody we've ever heard of, got together and collaborated to make a generator of some kind that would as good as turn anybody into a cape. They find somebody, scramble her corona, give her said generator and this bodyguard, and spend time teaching her how to use it.

"My question is simple. _Why_? What do they get out of it? She's an independent hero, right?" Rebecca nodded. "So it isn't that they're villains. If they were, she'd be committing crimes. If they're heroes or want to be heroes, they would have at least spoken to somebody with the Protectorate long before they found each other. If they're rogues and are trying to advertise their products, they wouldn't let her run around claiming she has powers of her own, and especially not that she's using magic of all things. Come to think of it, they wouldn't make just one," he added, rubbing his chin in thought. "After all the effort to design something like that, making more than one would be comparatively easy and would also give them more exposure. No matter how you look at this, none of it makes any sense."

"Yes, I'm aware," she grunted. "Why do you think it's been on my mind so much? I can't figure it out, and I keep coming to that conclusion, too. There is no way that series of events can come to pass, but I can't think of any other explanation."

"I can."

She looked up at his mirthful expression. He had another explanation? "What is it?"

"You're overthinking it. Just because we were part of a shadowy conspiracy doesn't mean there's one around every corner. We're missing some crucial piece of the puzzle, that's all." Tilting his head, he considered her thoughtfully. "What I find more interesting is how invested in this you are. I've never known you to get this riled up about any cape before. Any _person_ before, honestly. What is it about her that has you so fixated?"

 _Because she's me from twenty years ago and looked at the me of today in disgust_. Not that she could really explain that, not in any way that would make sense to him. Some days, it did not even make sense to her. All she knew for sure was that after the uncomfortable revelations following the Simurgh fight, she could not go back to how she had previously done things. In a way, it was almost a relief; the methods she had previously chosen were all geared towards a goal that was no longer possible or relevant, so being forced to abandon them provided the clean break she had not realized she needed. For every bit of relief, however, there was three times as much anxiety about what she was going to do now. The Endbringers might not be quite as threatening as Scion, but they still had no clue how to defeat the monstrosities.

Not to mention, they could no longer just let the world spiral into chaos and start over with whatever pieces were left. They were stuck with this mess.

"Unless…." He chuckled. "If you're that interested in her, you could just ask her out like a normal person."

…What?

"What."

"I mean, researching your crush inside and out until you know her better than she knows herself is definitely something you would do, but it's also a little creepy. You'll come off as less of a stalker if you actually talk to her."

With Herculean effort, she cast off the sheer befuddlement his words had caused and noticed the wide smile he was doing his best to hide. That… that…. "I know there is a way to hurt a rainbow," she hissed through her teeth, "and no matter how long it takes, mark my words. I _will_ find it."

Michael finally let out the laugh he was holding back. "I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. That opportunity was just too good to pass up. And you have to admit, it isn't like anyone has any clue what tickles your fancy. For all I know, overpowered coeds might actually be what turns you on."

"Keep talking, Michael. I dare you."

All he did was grin, and soon enough she let the forced indignation fade away. "Not that it's any of your business, but I've always been too busy. Between D.C., L.A., and Cauldron, I didn't have the time to care for a cat, let alone a boyfriend. My cacti are about as much commitment as I can handle."

"I wish I found that harder to believe. I really do." Rolling her eyes, she pulled the paperwork towards her again in clear dismissal, not that he seemed to notice or care. "Don't take this the wrong way, but have you considered retiring?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When we started this project, there were two main reasons you wanted to be the one directing the non-cape side of things. One, integrating capes into the rest of society. I think that's been a success. It hasn't always been easy, and it's still not finished, but momentum is on our side. That's practically a done deal, and it doesn't need your personal attention anymore. Two, creating a foundation on which to rebuild society after Scion. Now that he's dead, it's irrelevant." He stared at her until she met his eyes. "You run yourself ragged taking care of two positions and leave no time for anything outside of it. Eidolon did the same, but we both know he half-wanted to die a heroic death while striking the killing blow against Scion. The big difference between you and him? He isn't unaging and indestructible. Eternity's a long time to spend all by yourself."

"If that was supposed to encourage me to focus on being Alexandria so I could have a life outside of work, it failed spectacularly."

He grimaced and pulled on his mask, Legend once more. "You're right. Forget I said anything."

"Easier said than done."

"Fair enough." Walking over, he laid his hand on her shoulder. "I don't mean to upset you. I just worry about you. Sometimes it's hard to reconcile how you are today with the bright-eyed girl you were when we all first met. We've all gotten older and wiser, but there were days…."

"There were days what?" He shook his head, but before he could deny anything, she pressed, "No, finish what you were going to say. There were days what?"

He looked away. "…There were days I worried your warmth and humanity wasn't protected from the ravages of time the same way your body is. That the reason you got better at making hard decisions wasn't because the world was becoming a harder place but because it was _you_ becoming harder and colder. Finding out the truth about Cauldron didn't help matters."

As much as his words hurt, she could not refute them. Instead she reached over to lay her hand on top of his. "Maybe I was. That's part of why Calamity Witch interests me. She reminds me too much of myself from back then, and looking at us now, maybe I have lost something important. Something I don't know if I can ever get back," she finished in a whisper.

"I don't know about that," he replied. "You seem to be regaining some of it. Even a year ago, there's no way you would have trusted me with this. We haven't really trusted each other in a long while."

She gave his hand a pat and pulled away. "Well, that's something we can try to fix. Not today," she added with a glare at her work, "but soon. Grab Eidolon and spend some time together without fights or dark revelations. Just the three of us like we used to be."

"You have no idea how much I like that idea."

No, she did. Watching him slip out the window again through the corner of her eye, she returned to her reports. She really did.

* * *

 **My depiction of Alexandria's prosthetic eye is different from canon, but that's because 1) it probably isn't Tinkertech for the reason stated above, 2) the mounting Wildbow described isn't used in real life, at least not for an eye that's supposed to be mobile, and 3) his method would have required surgery, which you can't do on someone who is completely invulnerable.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	45. Emigration 4-16

**Emigration 4.16**

 **Tuesday, April 5  
** « _Connection established._ »

" _Miss Militia."_

« _It's Calamity Witch,_ » you project, careful not to let your lips move. Everyone else has also tuned out Mrs. Kohle's lecture about the symbolism in _The Great Gatsby_ , but there's no reason to let them know you're using that time to make a phone call. « _I believe we still need to have a little chat._ »

" _Yes, I guess we do,"_ she replies in a tired voice. " _When can you come to the Protec—"_

« _This is a discussion we should probably have at a more neutral location, wouldn't you say?_ » And by neutral, you mean somewhere where Miss Militia doesn't feel like she has a home field advantage, not to mention somewhere you can send Samantha ahead of time so she can lie in wait and make sure no one tries to trap or bug the place.

Is it petty? Yes. Paranoid? Maybe a little. But petty and paranoid or not, your trust of the gunslinging heroine has taken a pretty big hit over the last couple of days. After weathering the glares and the _'I'm not mad, I'm disappointed'_ lectures from both Samantha and your dad, you dragged your Guardian Beast away so you could put your heads together. With this new data point, it's clear the warning your intuition gave you after the first encounter with the Beasts was a valid one. Miss Militia knew something was off about the crazed monstrosities, but she didn't tell you and instead lied that everything was perfectly fine. How long has she been hiding what's really going on? Has she been lying to you since right after the Simurgh attack when she called to persuade you to leave Boston? If she's been lying about this, what else has she been lying about?

You just don't know.

She is quiet a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. " _I suppose it could be. How about the rooftop across from the jeweler's where you and Vista fought them? Maybe in an hour?"_

English ends in forty-five minutes. It won't take you long to fly to that area of the city, not at the speeds you can reach, but you'll also have to shake off Kayleigh. The redhead was extra clingy yesterday, and you know she'll be the same way as soon as she finds you after class. You'll have to convince her to go to lunch without you, and since you might wind up skipping class for the rest of the day depending on how long the conversation takes, you'll have to give her a really good argument so she doesn't completely smother you tomorrow. « _Ninety minutes would be better._ »

" _Fine. Ninety minutes. See you then."_

The woman hangs up, and you ask, « _You caught all that?_ »

« _That I did,_ » Samantha answers. « _Though I have to wonder. Do you truly think she might set a trap for you, or are you just being cautious?_ »

« _You think it's too much, huh?_ »

The raccoon's laughter fills your mind. « _Oh, not at all. Whatever information she withheld, it nearly got you killed the first time you found those creatures. Perhaps it was never her intention to put you in danger. Perhaps it was. Only she knows which, and until she reveals her goals, it is best that you watch her warily. No one ever died from being too careful._ »

Not what you were expecting, but you'll take it. « _I just thought you would tell me not to judge her based on one act or something along those lines._ » Then again, your Guardian Beast has tried to get you to think before you act before now, so maybe she's just taking what she can get.

« _I will not say you should never offer trust to those who have abused it once, but be sure you know and agree with their reasons why before you do so. Should similar circumstances crop up again, they will undoubtedly make the same choice._

« _I will arrive at the rendezvous point soon. I'll see you when you get here._ » The telepathy cuts out, leaving you alone in your own head and with nothing to do but watch the clock count down.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

You are still airborne when Miss Militia shows up. Not in transit, just floating; more precisely, you're leaning back against the empty air with the brim of your hat pulled down over your eyes. A single finger pushing from underneath slides it back to reveal your mask. "You made good time."

"I had an hour and a half. If it were late with that much time to prepare, it would be a problem." Looking around at the apparently empty rooftop, she drops her knife onto the gravel where it turns into a small cannon. It seems that the power to make 'any weapon' doesn't include improvised armaments like folding chairs, no matter what professional wrestlers want the world to believe. Still, she seems comfortable enough on her makeshift bench.

The silence turns stuffy until you finally cave. "What's _really_ going on here, Miss Militia?"

"It's… complicated," she admits. "I think you've already figured it out, but these aren't Case 53s. There are too many, and they're all duplicates. At first, we thought we were dealing with a duplicator, maybe someone with a similar power set to Oni Lee but with a Brute aspect added in. Then the teleporters showed up. Self-duplication almost always prevents a cape from copying someone else, so that theory looked less likely. And now, with these healers? That theory is dead.

"Once you take clone-based powers out of the mix, the sheer number of enemies points to one big, scary alternative: a bio-Tinker. The problem with that is that Tinkers need time to establish themselves. Setting up a working lab, fine-tuning their abilities, learning the ins and outs of their powers; all that can take months or even years. The Brute-type would already be incredibly sophisticated for a fresh Tinker, but he's progressing too quickly for that to be the case. We're more likely dealing with somebody who is acting out a long-standing plan. We just don't know what he wants."

"And you couldn't just tell me that?" you demand. "You fed me that lie about Case 53s to lure me here instead? If you had just _asked_ me, I would have happily given you a hand dealing with them."

She shakes her head sharply. "I didn't lie to you. When we talked in Boston, I told you what I knew about the situation. I wasn't briefed on the realities until I got here."

"Why keep it a secret? If there's a bio-Tinker who needs to be stopped before he builds some kind of mutant army, I'd think you'd want every hand on deck you can get!"

"Because the last time a Tinker built a 'mutant army', we built a wall around him," the American-themed heroine points out. "No one wants to turn a city of one and a half million people into a second Ellisburg, and that's what will happen should this information become public knowledge. Typhon, our current name for this villain, is moving slower than Nilbog did. We still have time to stop him. Until the situation gets entirely out of our hands, we don't want to cause a panic. Chevalier, Legend, Director Paulson, and Chief Director Costa-Brown talked the situation over, and it was finally decided to make the details classified outside the Protectorate and PRT with few exceptions. Chevalier wanted the information spread further so we could get more help," Miss Militia explains, raising her hands helplessly, "but his hands are tied. So long as we are mostly in control of the situation, he has to be careful in how he gets help."

…All right. You are still angry about the situation and the terrible decisions that went into it, but just maybe it isn't Miss Militia personally you should be mad at. Left unanswered is another question, one you would dearly like an explanation for. "What happened Friday? The Beasts were well away from where they should have been, and you and Chevalier were already on their tails."

"Like I told you, we had been on the hunt for most of the evening already," she says with a sigh. "We hoped that we could find a group and drive them back to their creator so we'd know where in the city we needed to focus our efforts, but instead of fleeing home they went on a rampage. The group we found somehow called in reinforcements – a lot of reinforcements, at that – and while we drove them off, we were afraid they would just find somewhere else to attack. Unfortunately, we were right, and they found your party. Sere was with us in the beginning, but his powers managed to kill some of the Brutes without letting them rot away like they normally do, so he had to stay behind and make sure they stayed intact while Chevalier and I continued the pursuit."

"Why was that so important?"

"Once we had intact specimens, Chevalier wanted them sent to Houston. If anyone can glean insight from another bio-Tinker's work, it's Bonesaw. I just hope it doesn't give her _ideas_ ," she adds, her voice soft with worry.

That makes some sense, you suppose. "And where were the Wards in all this?"

Miss Militia crosses her arms. "Shortly after you came back with Vista the night you ran into Cudejo, somebody called in the Youth Guard with some nonsense story about her being intentionally sent to arrest him. All the Wards are benched until they finish their investigation. For now, it's just Chevalier, Sere, and me, along with whatever independents want to help out."

"How long do you expect the investigation to take?"

"However long it takes for the pair of representatives to go through our records. Not that Chevalier or Director Paulson have anything to worry about; the Wards program here isn't nearly the mess it was in Brockton. If anyone had called them back there, Director Piggot would have been in a very sticky situation. Not that it matters anymore," she finishes with another sigh.

The silence this time is melancholy rather than stilted, your mind drifting back in time to Brockton Bay as well.

Thumps sound from a nearby heating vent, and Miss Militia jumps up, her cannon reforming into a heavy pistol. Not that she has anything to worry about. A few deep grunts come out, followed shortly by an unremarkable raccoon. "I told you you wouldn't be able to climb out of there in war form," you say.

The raccoon shoots you a glare before melting into Samantha. "If I needed to get out quickly, I would have just ripped through the metal. No need to damage anything now, though."

Miss Militia's own expression is indecipherable, though you have the feeling she recognizes the significance of you keeping your Guardian Beast in war form and hidden nearby.

"How _is_ Vista doing?" you ask before your obvious distrust can make things too awkward. Not that asking about the thirteen-year-old you brought back critically injured isn't awkward all on its own, but sadly it's probably less so than the former.

The older heroine shakes her head. "She…. She's doing as well as can be expected, I suppose. She has been spending most of her time in her room, and she doesn't want to talk to anyone. In a way, the Youth Guard's timing couldn't have been better. Pushing to be let back on the field while she's still recovering would do her more harm than good. Much more."

"And there's no way I would be allowed to go over there and try to talk her out, is there?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but no, there isn't. No one outside the Protectorate has permission to see her right now. Any hope of her keeping her identity secret long-term is dead, but we will still protect it while it offers her even the slightest protection." Returning her knife to its sheathe, Miss Militia gives you an incline of her head, not even a nod, and says, "I need to get back to my patrol. You know how to reach me if you need me."

And with that curt dismissal, she walks away and climbs down the fire escape.

« _That was certainly pleasant,_ » Samantha sarcastically thinks to you.

"Maybe, but I don't know how much of her frustration is really aimed at us." You pull off your wirework mask and rub the bridge of your nose. "It is nice to know what's really going on, though. I just wish it were better news."

"On that score, we'll just have to take what we can get." A second later, the raccoon leaps up onto you and climbs to your shoulder. « _Onward. You still have just enough time to get back to school before your next class. We can grab something on the way._ »

"And you're, what? Just going to hang around for three hours until school's out?"

« _Maybe I will. You dragged me away before my soap started, so there's no point in catching just the last five minutes. I'll have to wait tomorrow to watch it online._ »

You roll your eyes where Samantha has no chance of missing it. You _really_ should have waited to find a cat. She'd be a whole lot easier to deal with.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	46. Emigration 4-17

**Emigration 4.17**

 **Friday, April 8  
** You click on the link in the email you received yesterday and are unsurprised to find yourself once again on the video chat Dragon used to talk with you last time. Also like last time, Perfect Storm modifies your laptop's video feed so it displays Calamity Witch rather than you when the world-famous Tinker logs on. "Do you just keep windows open until people reply?" you can't help but ask. You got the private message yesterday afternoon, but between making dinner alongside Dad and putting the finishing touches on the artsy-craftsy History project you maybe possibly forgot about until the last minute, you didn't even know she had sent you anything until you logged onto your account half an hour ago. And yet, even after that delay, she still answers in just a couple of seconds? Something's a little fishy about this.

Oh. Or maybe she's like Miss Militia and doesn't sleep. Agoraphobia _and_ insomnia? No wonder she gets so much Tinkering done. She'd probably die of boredom if she didn't have something to do.

The avatar bobs gently; maybe a shrug? " _You'd be surprised how many windows I keep open at any one time. There's a lot I have to keep track of, and automation only goes so far. That isn't what I wanted to talk to you about, though."_

You grin, feeling only a little superior. "The EEG says I don't have any powers, doesn't it?"

" _More like it's indeterminate. There is something strange going on in your brain when you use magic, but the source could not be localized."_

"And by can't be localized, you mean it isn't coming from that thing in the front of my brain where the Corona or whatever used to be, right?" She doesn't answer immediately, which makes your smile widen a little more. " _Right_?"

" _…That is one way to interpret it."_

You laugh lightly. Parahuman powers? Nope! _You_ are a mage. This would have all gone so much faster if Dragon had just believed you, but you'll cut her some slack. You had trouble believing in magic until you created Samantha, and you were the one doing it. Besides, there's no reason to rub her nose in her misjudgment. That's the kind of thing Emma would do. Instead you simply ask, "Now that that's all been straightened out, have you taken a look at the books Perfect Storm sent you? I couldn't make heads or tails out of the blueprints, but I'm not a Tinker or an engineer—"

« _Device Meister, Mistress_.»

"—so I wouldn't know what I'm looking at anyway," you finish, ignoring Perfect Storm's 'helpful' correction.

" _That makes two of us."_

What?

" _I flipped through the designs in those books, but they make no sense. Analyzing the blueprints, the materials used have the wrong resistances for electricity to flow down them, and several areas don't have any kind of circuitry whatsoever. Whatever powers your device, it isn't electricity. Not to mention, the blueprints has different pieces stacked on top of and even_ inside _other ones, which just isn't possible. Not unless even the simplest 'magical' designs rely on dimensional folding or something along those lines, anyway,"_ she reluctantly amends.

Dimensional folding. Thinking back to how Perfect Storm _shifted_ when you first met, you nod. You could see that being the case.

" _Nor is it only the physical designs that don't work,"_ Dragon continues. " _I thought I could get some hints about the engineering from looking at the code, but that was even less helpful. I'm highly tempted to dismiss this as an elaborate prank, but thinking back to our other talks, you sounded too eager and honest for that to be the case. You believe what you're saying is true, for whatever that's worth."_

"I _know_ what I'm saying is true," you tell her in a stern voice. She thinks this is a _prank_? Seriously? "The code makes perfect sense. I've definitely seen it enough. If it didn't work, I'd know it."

" _There is no sense to be had in it. There is no internal consistency at all. How to explain this?"_ mutters the Tinker to herself. " _You know about number bases, right? Decimals like everyone uses in day-to-day life is base 10, binary is base 2, that sort of thing?"_ You nod. " _Mathematics can be done without issue no matter the bases involved. The problem is that it has to be_ consistent, _and this isn't. In your 'spells', different variables will be entered into the same function, but running through the calculations based on the final answers in the books, the only way the answers make sense is if, depending on the variable in question, the function uses different bases depending on the variable that was entered. Ten is the predominant, but not by much. Base 7 and 12 are also very common, followed by a substantial bit of base 17. To make matters more complicated, even if two variables correspond to the same function and use the same base, that function will then call up completely different subroutines. I can't find any sign for when one set of subroutines is supposed to be used instead of another, and there are no redundancy loops or error checks that I would expect should it be a matter of trial and error. These codes should all collapse into error messages before they do anything."_

"I don't know what to tell you. My spells make sense to me. If there's something funky going on with the math, it isn't bad enough that I've noticed it. As for the whole subroutine thing, maybe it just needs an AI to figure out what needs to be turned on when, but I don't think that's it, either." You shrug. "Storm's told me before that I can learn to cast any of my spells without its help. That doesn't sound like it's essential, just very very helpful."

Dragon shakes her head. " _Regardless, this doesn't prove your claims. I'm willing to accept for now that you aren't a parahuman,"_ she explains to your expression of shock, " _but the only alternative you've presented so far is that you learned_ magic _from_ aliens. _You'll have to excuse me if I first look at all the possibilities before I accept something that unbelievable. It's nothing personal, just that what you're trying to convince me of is beyond outlandish and well into impossible. For it to stand up on its own merits, every other plausible and even implausible explanation must first be ruled out."_

You glare at her, your initial surprise becoming overwhelmed by your anger and frustration. When you first talked to Dragon, you revealed the whole truth both because it was the right thing to do and because she, being a world-famous hero and Tinker, likely deserved to know about alien technology if anyone did. You went through the MRI and the EEG and the fight that nearly got Vista _killed_ so you could prove to her that you were telling the truth and weren't crazy or messing with her. And _this_ is the thanks you get? That's a good reason to let her stay in the dark and be surprised if and when space wizards show up on Earth Bet—

Oh. _Ohhh_. Now that's just mean, but it's _so_ deserved.

"What more proof would you want before you accept that everything I'm telling you is real?" you ask, carefully hiding your expectant smirk.

" _What more proof do I need before I believe in magical aliens? Where do I begin? The bare basics would—"_

"Would talking to them work?"

" _…Um."_ Dragon blinks bewildered at you. " _What?"_

"You remember that video I sent you where I swam down to the crashed ship and salvaged something from it before it all sank? Originally, I thought what I found was part of the computer. That's what I went down looking for, you see," you explain, "something that would reveal exactly what Perfect Storm is and where it comes from. It doesn't remember a lot from before it crashed here. Anyway, when I powered up what I thought was a computer, it turned out it was actually the ship's radio."

" _You claim to have a radio from a UFO,"_ Dragon repeats slowly, " _and that you managed to talk to the same aliens whose technology you claim to use. And you want to, what, put me on the line with them?"_

"Pretty much, yeah."

" _I'm starting to think you either really did do all this or are completely delusional. I don't know which would be worse."_

You shrug. You aren't entirely sure what she's worried about, but maybe that's because you've spent the last couple of months with Perfect Storm whereas she hasn't. Either way, a problem for another day. "Well? Do you want to talk to them or not?"

Dragon visibly hesitates, but finally her curiosity wins out. " _Okay. If you're this eager to show me, I'll see it."_

« _Negative._ »

"Huh? Negative what?" you ask your Device.

« _Mistress suffered moderate to severe Core strain following last communication attempt. Commands to power radio will be overridden._ »

Dragon turns to stare at Perfect Storm in interest, and you give her a sheepish smile. "Give us just a minute, please?" You don't wait for her to respond before hitting the mute button. "Storm, this is serious. If we want Dragon's help figuring out how to power the radio long-term or finding the rest of the ship or anything, really, we need her to believe us. You heard her. She isn't going to accept what we're telling her unless she talks to them herself."

« _Irrelevant. Mistress's Linker Core will be damaged following such strain._ »

You stop and think for a second. Your Intelligent Device is doing its best to protect you. You appreciate that, you really do, but right now, that's more than a little inconvenient. Perhaps it gives you a different angle of attack, though. "What about the Endbringers? They're a danger to me, and if the TSAB or whatever has weapons that can kill them? That will keep me safer than me being here by myself."

« _Damage to Mistress's Linker Core will eliminate ability to protect self from all enemies._ »

"You aren't making this easy, are you?" you mutter. "Okay. A question. Which is it straining my Core: just turning the thing on, or keeping it running?"

« _Continued use._ »

Ha! Good. This you can work with. "So I can run it for a little while without it causing damage, right?" Perfect Storm reluctantly dings. "How long? If we turned the radio on, how long would I have before my Core starts getting strained again?"

The Device is silent for a long moment. « _Thirty seconds._ »

"See, that's not too—" Perfect Storm's words catch up to you, and you blink. "Say what again? Thirty seconds? That's it?"

« _Mistress's Linker Core still has not fully recovered from prior communication. Healing sufficient for routine spellcasting was achieved quickly, but Linker Core still possesses lingering damage. Thirty seconds maximum empowerment._ »

Well, that's less helpful than you expected. You can tell Perfect Storm won't budge on this, though. Clicking the microphone button again, you give Dragon a weak smile. "I talked to Storm, and it's willing to help power the radio again. The only problem is that my magic took a big hit last time, so we'll only get thirty seconds before Storm shuts it off."

" _That's not a lot of time."_

"Tell me about it," you mutter. "But I can't power the radio without its help, so if thirty seconds is all we get, that's what we'll have to work with. Even getting that much was a hassle. Is there anything specific you want to talk about?"

" _We hardly have long enough to talk about anything,"_ she points out. " _But if there's anything critical we need to know about…. You said it's because of their technology that you and your partner are immune to the Simurgh, correct?"_ You nod. " _Then that's what we need to discuss. What is it about their technology that protects you? The Simurgh is in some ways the most dangerous of the Endbringers. The others we can drive off and the threat is over, but the Simurgh's plots take months or even years to come to fruition. If we could limit the damage she can do over the long-term, she becomes less of a threat. We might even be able to stop quarantining whole cities."_

You wince. That'll be hard. It's definitely important, but you just don't know if you'll have the time to get the explanation out, let alone get a good answer. Perfect Storm sent the PRT a long explanation about how telepathy works, but presumably Dragon has had as much luck getting that to work as she's had with magic, which is not a good omen for this conversation.

Walking off-screen to your closet, you lug the radio tube out and prop it against your desk chair. "Storm, ready with the translation program? Dragon, get ready to ask your question." You pick your Device up and hold it in your palm over the radio. "Turn it on."

Just like before, dark triangles and wires pop out of nowhere and tap into pieces of the radio. The holographic screens appear afterwards. A quick check to make sure Perfect Storm is showing them to Dragon, and you give her a nod. "This is Taylor, from Earth Bet. Is anyone there?"

" _TSAB Enforcer Command, Lieutenant Azera speaking. Where did you say you're from again?"_

Great, somebody who doesn't know what's going on. That's just what you need right now. "Earth Bet. I'm the only mage on my world. I talked to this Tiburon guy a few weeks ago. I'm kind of in a time crunch here, but we need to know how magic blocks out telepathy."

You're worried Azera is going to ask some stupid questions and waste more of your limited time, but she seems to roll with the punches. " _What kind of telepathy do you mean? Forcible interrogations, hallucinations, inviolable directives?"_

"Maybe the last one." Is the Simurgh's Scream a directive? It certainly makes people act in a way totally opposite to how they normally world, so you guess? "There's a monster on our world who drives whole cities insane whenever she attacks, and I'm one of the only people who can resist her. We think it's because of the Device I picked up, but we don't know for sure, and I don't know how to build them or how they work. I have one of our best engineers on the—"

The screens flicker mid-sentence and die. Staring at Perfect Storm, you bite out, "That was _not_ thirty seconds."

« _It was, Mistress. Agreement was for thirty seconds. Linker Core monitored during event. Cumulative damage noted. Too dangerous to attempt communication again without stronger power source. Refuse to comply with instructions to do so._ »

You turn to look at Dragon. "Sorry. I knew thirty seconds wasn't a lot, but I thought you would at least get a chance to ask somebody who knows about telepathy and everything a question."

" _It's fine. I didn't expect much with that little time to work,"_ she admits. " _What I find more interesting is how you talked to them. They don't know who you are, do they?"_

"Not really. I only had a couple of minutes to talk to them last time, and it wasn't until the end of the conversation that they realized I'm the only mage here. I never seem to get a chance to tell them anything of importance," you add with a significant look at your Device.

Perfect Storm glints back unashamedly.

" _You've certainly given me a great deal to think about,"_ says Dragon with a sigh. " _And everything was calming down, too. I knew the other shoe was going to drop eventually. I just didn't think it would be something like this."_

"Sorry?"

She waves your tentative apology off. " _Nothing we can do about it now. Even if your Storm decides to let you power the radio again, please don't. Aliens with magic."_ She shakes her head. " _Assuming somebody isn't playing a joke on you and you aren't playing one on me, this is the kind of situation that needs to be handled_ delicately. _I don't know who needs to know about this and how to make them believe it when I'm not sure_ I _do, but this is bigger than just the two of us. Please, just hold off on talking to them until we have some idea of what we're going to do."_

Her side of the video abruptly cuts off, and you watch the screen for a few seconds before deciding she hung up rather than that there's any technical difficulties. Hanging Perfect Storm around you neck again, you grab the radio to manhandle it back into your closet.

Somehow, you don't think this is much of a shoe, and that worries you.

* * *

 **Only a few people remembered that Perfect Storm said no to powering up the radio again. I thought about having it stick to its guns, but since they were all so eager to have Dragon talk to the TSAB, they got** _ **one**_ **exception. And yes, I actually did time myself reading the dialogue. I didn't want to shortchange anybody on their measly thirty seconds.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	47. Emigration 4-x

**lazyb0nes:** A databurst was suggested, but it didn't gain enough traction until _after_ PS refused to run the radio anymore. And if you don't mind me suggesting which forum to join if you want to follow this quest, I'd say Sufficient Velocity. It has the greater number of voters and the greater amount of discussion and subsequent explanations from my end, to the point that I've seriously considered more than once shutting down the SpaceBattles branch of the quest out of lack of interest.

* * *

 **Emigration 4.x**

 **Samstag, 9 Grasmanod, Year 0080  
** " _Right now, we're still waiting for the majority of the supplies to be collected and brought on board and the specialists to arrive. We can set off as soon as that's finished. I'd estimate no more than a week."_

"That is good news, Erga," Admiral Dietrich Tucson said with a sigh. Finally, something was going right with this blasted operation. "You're sure no one else knows the details of your mission?"

" _Just myself and Captain Aska. We told the rest of the crew that we're on a routine expedition and surveillance mission with unsubstantiated rumors of pirate activity in the area. It seemed the best explanation for why I'm aboard and why everyone needs to be prepared to adhere to first contact precautions,"_ the Enforcer said with a shrug.

Tucson nodded. That was good enough, for now at least. That kind of cover story would not last forever, particularly not if everything went south the way he was afraid and half-convinced it would, but it would do until the _Sojourner_ reached Delnarib and the Dimensional Sea beyond. "Just be careful. I believe I've explained how _delicate_ this situation is. A Lost Logia activating is not the kind of first impression we want to make on a magic-naive world. I'm just glad we have some point of contact on this Earth Bet place."

" _Explained more than once, if you don't mind my saying so, Admiral,"_ Erga said with a cheeky grin. The Eltria-born mage had an incorrigible habit of toeing the line between simple sass and true disrespect, but thankfully for him he was also a damn fine investigator. There were days his skill was the only thing keeping him from getting busted down a rank. " _Find the dimension, find the Lost Logia, beat it up if it's active, lock it down if it ain't, and bring it back. Standard Enforcer op except for the planet. Also look for that Taylor girl and convince her to leave her backwater and join up."_

"Don't get cocky," Tucson warned. "We lost two ships and almost three full crews to this thing, and that's without knowing whether it played any role in the _Agharti_ 's crash. You stick your neck out too far, you just might lose it this time."

The much younger mage scratched his purple stubble. " _Ah, love you too, Admiral. Promise I'll come home safe and sound. Erga out."_

Days like today, in fact, when Erga's skill was the only thing keeping him safe.

Tucson shook his head and turned back to his regular display, but he barely had time to read the first line of the report in front of him before his secretary buzzed him. " _You have a priority call, Admiral,"_ the woman's voice said.

"Who is it?"

" _Enforcer Lanster, sir."_

His hands froze on the keyboard. This was a confrontation he did not have the wherewithal for right now. Unfortunately, he also knew that if he didn't answer, she would just call back again. And again, and again, until he finally gave in and talked to her, at which time he would have to slap her down for insubordination because there was no doubt in his mind that she would be in a temper by then. Running his fingers through his greying head, he sighed again. "Okay, Stella, patch her through." A video screen popped up where Erga's had been a few moments before. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Lanster?"

The redhead scowled at him; as much as she would scowl at her superior, anyway. " _I heard you found it."_

No matter how tempting it was to play dumb about what she was talking about, he knew she would confirm whatever rumor she had heard eventually. "We received a message via the radio that was part of the _Agharti_ a few weeks ago. A local mage on a magic-naive world managed to power it up with what sounds like an ad hoc setup. We've already started organizing a mission to pick her, and the Lost Logia, up."

" _A… a few_ weeks? _!"_ she spluttered. " _Admiral, with all due respect, you know what happened when that thing activated last time, and that was when it only had a few days and two ships to build up its forces. Now you're saying it's been on an_ _ **inhabited world**_ _for a few_ _ **weeks**_ _and we haven't grabbed it yet?!"_

"The initial communication did not indicate that anything untoward had happened, which should have meant that the Lost Logia was still inactive. There was no reason not to be cautious with regard to assembling a team to retrieve it," he explained as patiently as he could. Lanster's indignation was understandable, admirable even. Had he been in her shoes when he was still an active field agent, he would have been just as upset. But aggravation did not help anybody right now. "Yesterday's follow-up message regarding a telepathic monster driving people insane, on the other hand, rapidly accelerated our plans."

Lanster's face turned even more pallid than it already was, nearly the shade of her white gown, and he could see her mouth his last words. " _Who…. Who's the Enforcer going in?"_

"Erga."

" _Erga?! Sir, he's one of the worst choices for this operation!"_

Tucson crossed his arms and stared hard at her. "Do recall, Lieutenant Commander, that his attitude aside, Commander Erga has substantially more experience working around low-magic worlds than have you. I fail to see what standing you have to criticize his placement as the Enforcer for this incident."

" _That's not what I meant, sir,"_ she said, eyes down and voice audibly chastised. " _Erga is more experienced, and he's a good investigator, but even he'll admit that he's weak when it comes to combat. This Lost Logia will not go down without a fight."_ Glancing up again, she suggested, " _What about Fate? She's one of our strongest fighters, and she's worked on magic-naive worlds before. She even lived on one for several years. If anyone's the best bet for dealing with this, it's her."_

"I agree. Or I would were Captain Harlaown not currently on an undercover assignment. Total radio silence by her own orders."

" _Then what about calling for help from—"_

"Lanster," he interrupted with a sigh, "while I appreciate the suggestions, we don't know anything about the situation. Certainly not enough to think that we can't handle this without calling in the rest of the Navy."

Lanster bit her lip before blurting out, " _Send me."_

"What?"

" _You could send me. I'd serve as Erga's adjunct during the investigative phase, but if things got out of hand, I'd be able to put it down better than he can. Not to mention, I've fought this Lost Logia before. I can do it again."_

"You might have forgotten what kind of condition you were in after that incident," Tucson said humorlessly, "but I certainly haven't. And since I doubt you've started wearing hospital gowns as a fashion statement…."

The woman shook her head. " _This is nothing, sir. I'm ready to get back to work."_

 _Right_. Meeting her eyes, he asked, "Can you walk?"

" _I've already been cleared for flight, sir. Medical's just dragging their heels on signing off regarding rejoining combat exercises—"_

"Lieutenant Commander." Her voice trailed off. "Can. You. Walk?"

Her silence told him everything he needed to know.

"Until you've completed your physical therapy, you aren't going back on active duty. I don't know that I could trust you with a desk job right now. Either way, there's no chance I'm going to put you on the _Sojourner_."

" _Admiral, please,"_ she said, her voice soft, nearly begging. " _What if… When does the_ Sojourner _head out?"_

He answered carefully, "A week, maybe a little later."

" _A week."_ Lanster nodded to herself. " _What if I was cleared by Medical before it departs? There'd be nothing keeping me from returning to active duty, would there?"_

He massaged his temples. Why did his Enforcers have to be so tenacious? Why? He could barely believe he was considering this, but he consoled himself with the fact that what she was offering was practically impossible. "Fine. Get cleared before the _Sojourner_ ships out, and I'll permit you to join the crew and assist Erga with this case." The redhead laughed, but he raised a warning finger. "But! I need to have their approval for you to rejoin active duty on my desktop before you so much as step one foot on the deck. Do not test me on this, Lanster, I mean it. You will not like the consequences if you try to sneak on board. Is that clear?"

" _Absolutely, sir. You'll get it. I'll put the form in your hands myself if I have to."_

The video feed cut out, and he let himself lean back in his chair. That girl was either going to be one of his best Enforcers, or she would be the death of him. And that was ignoring her terrible, terrible luck in the kinds of cases she wound up taking part in. First the disaster with the Mariage, and now this? He might have to stick her with a desk job just to keep her from getting killed.

He could appreciate the opinion she voiced after she returned from her latest mission, though. Appreciate and totally agree with. Nothing good ever came out of Galea.

* * *

 **Parts of this interlude might have worked better had the players already converted somebody, but oh well. At least they got a major piece to the puzzle of just what the hell Perfect Storm really is.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	48. Escapades 5-1

**Jack Inqu, orion0905:** This is set in the main Nanoha continuity the year after ViVid, so all the characters are still around and at their appropriate ages. orion, that means Teana is 20, definitely not Wards age.

* * *

 **Escapades 5.1**

 **Sunday, April 10  
** You wrap white gauze around a bloody red wound, one of several you've bandaged this afternoon. It's times like this you wish you knew some kind of healing spell, or even that you maintained a closer connection to the team you were 'officially' part of to know when they were getting themselves into trouble. If there had been more than traps in the drug den they raided, or even just more traps….

You really don't want to think about those possibilities.

"Buck up, kid," Alexander says warmly, breaking you out of your thoughts. He just smiles at your confused expression. "We're okay. We didn't even get that hurt, all things considered. The Fairyland capes are nasty bitches, if you'll excuse my French, but a few of Snow White's minions standing guard in a house? Not nearly as big a threat."

"Speak for yourself," wheezes Ramirez, a bag of ice firmly planted between his legs where a concrete Dwarf had head-butted him.

"That's your own fault," Alexander retorts, voice halfway between the quiet man you're used to and the de facto field leader of the Privateers he's fast becoming. "Maybe those things wouldn't hold so much of a grudge against you if you hadn't gotten distracted staring at her ass last time."

"Or they were just jealous I got the right angle to—"

"La la la la la!" you shout, fingers shoved tight in your ears. A childish action, no question about that, but it stops the Don Juan wannabe mid-sentence and drastically lightens the mood if the other ex-dockworkers' chuckles are anything to judge by. Just as planned. "Fifteen-year-old girl still in the room, thank you very much."

Samantha shoots you an approving glance as she passes to continue her own Florence Nightingale impression. She's taking this a lot better than you are. Has your dad told her details of the Privateers' operations that he's hidden from you? Or maybe it's just that she realizes Alexander has a point. For all that these men were originally dockworkers and, at times, glorified manual laborers when those were the only jobs around, they've had eight weeks to practice working together and fighting capes with nothing but the boosts to awareness and coordination your dad can grant, and it shows. They aren't S.W.A.T., but they just might be able to give the PRT's troops a run for their money.

"If I was about to say anything you haven't heard from the guys at your high school, I'll give up drinking and swearing and become a priest," Ramirez says, breaking into your introspection.

"So you're on par with high schoolers now?" laughs Mitch. "Giving yourself a little too much credit there, don't you think?"

A loud shout cuts through the laughter. "Hey! Hey!" Tim all but runs in and flips on the large television on the far wall. "Everybody shut up and listen!"

" _—numbers are still coming in, but current estimates are that anywhere from ten to forty National Guardsmen were seriously injured or killed in the initial attack. You can see behind me what remains of this section of the wall that was built around Brockton Bay following the Simurgh's attack, the concrete and rebar little match for the Teeth and Fallen's coordinated attacks—"_

You, along with the rest of your team, can only stare at the scenes of destruction being broadcast all across the country. Your hometown is only the second city in the U.S. that has been targeted by the Simurgh, but you know the tales from other lands. You know of Madison, Wisconsin, and the great guarded wall that was built to keep in all the people who were tainted by the Endbringer's maddening Scream. You know how the country still views the few people who have been let out, cleared by the PRT but still viewed with suspicion and fear by the average man and woman.

And that wall was just broken, like a boundary made of twigs?

« _Mistress,_ » your Device whispers insistently in your mind, « _a call from Miss Militia. High probability it is related to recent events in Brockton Bay._ »

High probability? More like a dead certainty. "Patch it through."

" _Calamity, it's Militia. Where are you?"_

"Watching the news." The Privateers turn to look at you, and you prod Perfect Storm to make the other heroine's side of the conversation audible. "What the hell happened?"

" _Everything. Everything happened, all at once."_ You can all too easily imagine her face, the same tension in her eyes that you saw when she found you and Vista following your first fight with the Beasts. " _It isn't even the Teeth or the Fallen who are the problem. It's all the villains who have managed to escape."_

All the villains? How many people were trapped behind…? Your thoughts screech to a halt when you remember the scene you witnessed when you were getting screened. Victor was listed as only a moderate threat, but he was forced to stay within the quarantine zone, and Othala was thrown back in when she refused to stand aside. Alexandria herself said that heroes got the benefit of the doubt during screenings like this while villains with the same chances of being Ziz-bombs were treated with suspicion. How many villains wound up trapped behind the city's walls with nothing to do but plot their revenge?

The rest of the Privateers stand in silence, their thoughts likely running along similar tracks to your own. "How bad is it likely to get?"

" _It's bad enough already. Everyone from the Philly Protectorate and most of the Boston branch is already here, along with several people from New York, and that doesn't count all the independents and even the occasional villain who has volunteered to help out. We've already received our engagement orders: stop the escapees from reaching anywhere they can disappear by any means necessary, up to and including lethal force. This is an all hands on deck situation, Calamity. I don't want to put any pressure on you, but we need all the help we can get before this turns into a total tragedy."_

"I don't—"

A noise comes from Miss Militia's side, someone talking but their words incomprehensible. " _I need to go,"_ the heroine says. " _If you want to help, come to the National Guard's base of operations. We put the address on the Protectorate's website. Just get here quick if you're coming at all."_

Several seconds pass without anyone saying a word, the sound stretching into a subjective eternity. "Tim, get the boss," Alexander finally says. "Who's good to go?" About half the Privateers raise their hands, every single one of them wearing bandages of some kind. "That'll have to do, I suppose. What about you, Taylor?"

* * *

 **I guess that's one way to kick this arc off with a bang, isn't it? 'Course, things are a** _ **little**_ **more complicated than just villains breaking out, but passing on that detail understandably isn't Miss Militia's highest priority right this second.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	49. Escapades 5-2

**Mingyu:** Technically, yes, I did give the players an out. I had stuff planned for if they stayed home, and there could have been _consequences_ on the battlefield, namely a malus to some survival roles.

* * *

 **Escapades 5.2**

The answer is an easy one, though you get the feeling the rest of the Privateers aren't going to like it. "I'm going, all right. Samantha, you in?"

"Do you honestly expect me to stay here while you put yourself at risk?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Fair enough."

"Good," Alexander says, still blissfully unaware of the path your thoughts are treading. "Everyone who's still able to fight, let's get a couple of trucks ready—"

"Everybody, stop!"

The men all turn to look at you in confusion. Kurt, still sitting as part of the group who admitted they were too injured to fight again today, was the first to figure it out. "You don't want any of us to go, do you?"

"No, I don't. Not now, and not to this." You raise you hands before they can bellow out their disagreement with your opinion. "If everyone was at their peak, maybe. Maybe. But you just got back from dealing with a boobytrapped drug den. All of you are injured. Some of you more than others, no arguments there, but injured just the same."

"Not all of us," one man argues. Mitch, you think his name is. It really has been a while if you can't remember everybody. "A few of us are still good to go."

Samantha lays one hand on your shoulder. "And 'a few' is… how many, exactly? Two? Three? That won't be enough."

"We've fought capes before! We can do this!" the same man yells.

"This won't be a regular fight!" you shout back. Right now, you'd dearly like a verbal hammer you could use to literally pound the facts into their heads. "You guys don't have powers, but you make up for it with skill and cunning and teamwork. But right now, you'll be missing most of your team, and it's going to be a mess out there. You heard Miss Militia. There will be both heroes and villains there, and they'll all be shooting to kill. There are going to be a lot of casualties, and I bet quite a few of them are going to be friendly fire from everyone going all out. Sam and I? We can take bullets and explosions and hits from Brutes and keep on going. We've done it before. None of you have the kind of defenses we do."

"They're right." You, along with Samantha and the Privateers, turn to regard your dad as we walks into the room. He's dressed as Captain, tricorn and all, and that means another argument you don't want to have. "We've been successful in fighting the gangs, immensely successful. But we didn't achieve our victories by charging in and butting heads with the strongest capes around. We played it smart. We watched and waited and planned, and then, only when we knew we had the greatest chances of getting away with it, did we attack. But this?" He shook his head. "This isn't something we can outthink and outmaneuver. We just don't have the raw power we would need for any kind of meaningful contribution.

"Go home, everyone. I know you want to help, but like it or not, this isn't our fight. There's nothing we can do here." The men muttered but lost their scowls for the most part, and he smiled. "And then, once everyone's rested up and recovered? Then we'll keep going after the villains who have infested this city. We know what living in a gang-ridden hellhole is like, and while we may have lost Brockton Bay, we won't lose Philadelphia."

It takes a couple of minutes before the Privateers are entirely dispersed. Once they're gone, though, you shoot your father a curious look. "Been working on your public speaking skills?"

"How do you think I kept so many people in a dockworkers' union in a city without a working port?" he replied. "There were months where a speech was all I could send the men home with. Compared to that, this is nothing."

"Danny," says Samantha gently, "everything you just said about outthinking your problems and not having the raw power you need? You know that applies to you, too."

"If I was even considering heading out to actually fight, you'd have a point, but I know where my strengths are. My powers helped out a lot during the Simurgh fight with coordinating people. They'll help out just as much with coordinating this mess."

You bite your lip, but after a long moment you nod. You don't like it, not one little bit, but… maybe he has a point. "You promise you'll stay at headquarters? No volunteering for anything, no stupid heroics?"

He gives you a flat look. "That should really be my line, you know."

"It should be, but I'm the one who's bulletproof."

Waving him closer, you raise your Intelligent Device. "Do you have the coordinates for the base?" A confident ring from the red gem, and a set of numbers appear inside your head. You take a deep breath and let it out. Time to do this. "Storm? Spatial Translocation."

Your triangle of light spins into existence below you, and the floor breaks apart into motes of orange light that quickly float upwards and wipe the converted warehouse out of existence. What replaces it is a large room with a bunch of capes and soldiers who have all glanced over to see who the new arrivals are before they return to their other duties. You look around, but you can't find Miss Militia anywhere.

"There," Samantha says, pointing out a young National Guardsman next to a box. A man in a burlap robe walks up to him and takes a wristband before continuing on his way. A very familiar wristband, in fact. Moving quickly towards the soldier, you tell him, "Calamity Witch and Samantha. I only know the basics. What's going on?"

From the faint smile on his face, this is either a question he's gotten several times already today or he has a sick sense of humor. You'll give him the benefit of the doubt considering it immediately morphs into carefully contained anger. "The Teeth weren't the only ones who hit the wall today. You know about Empire Eighty-Eight?"

"Too much. We're Brockton natives, left after the Simurgh hit."

"Okay. Most of them left and went to Boston, but apparently this Kaiser guy failed screening and got stuck inside. They decided to come back and bust him, a couple other capes, and a bunch of thugs out. Big chainsaw guy people were calling Hookwolf was leading them. They all went west.

"There was another group with them for a while, but this flying glowing cape and a few others split off fairly quick from what I was told and headed up 95 like they're trying to get to Maine. They reportedly have a bunch of families with them." He shook his head. "Guess they saw a chance to make it out and start a new life without people knowing they got Zizzed and took it.

"Everybody was already going after those two groups or dealing with the Teeth and Fallen when a bunch more people came out and ran south. More families, but they had capes riding on big dog monsters with them. _They_ didn't hurt anybody, which is more than I can saw for the others, but between the dogs and all the smoke one of them was spewing out, we couldn't get a clear shot."

"Where are the Teeth now?"

The soldier scowls. "They aren't far from here, unfortunately. We thought they were either going to go inside the city or leave, but then this half-dragon guy breathed fire on some of the Teeth and the Fallen. Don't know if it was an accident or what, but they started attacking this new group, then somebody was teleporting around and blowing shit up. They're drifting away, but they're still fairly close by, and Alexandria and Legend and some others went over there to bring all of them down." He thinks for a moment. "Alexandria did say anybody who decided to go help over there needed to know that the Butcher, Valefor, and Lung were in play and to make sure you left the Butcher alive. If you can't stop them without killing them, you need to make yourself useful somewhere else."

That's… worrying. "Where is everybody now?" you ask.

"I don't know. We haven't been kept in the loop since the big names arrived, just providing security for the coordinators." He hands out a couple of wristbands. "Give them your name, and tell whoever answers what group you're joining. They'll put you in touch with the team leaders who will have further directions." You and Samantha take yours, and he shrugs. "Good luck out there. You might need it."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	50. Escapades 5-3

**Escapades 5.3**

"I guess I'll leave it up to you two, then," your father says with a faint smile. "I'll be with the Thinkers and such." His smile turns brittle. "Just stay safe, okay?"

You reach out and grab his hand. "We will."

Taking a deep breath, Captain walks off to find the other support capes, and you let Samantha drag you away and to a quiet corner. She fits her wristband on her left arm and fiddles with it for a moment before looking up at you with sympathetic amber eyes. "Do you want me to stick around, provide a little extra security? I know there are plenty of soldiers here, but…."

It's tempting to do that, but you shake your head. Samantha is strong, even by cape standards. Once she got her feet under her, both two and four, she beat you in your spars every single time, and you know she still could even with the new spells you've accumulated. Alexandria could defeat her, probably, but that's the kind of opponent it would take. Telling her to stay here, though she would be willing to do so, would be a waste of that same strength. "Where do you think you could do the most good?"

"Probably Lung," she says tentatively. "I know he gets bigger and stronger as the fight goes on, but I think I have the answer to that." She holds up one hand and encases it in a silver glow. "Shredding Claw won't do anything about his size or the strength of his blows, but it will lower his defenses so I or someone else can do some damage. My Inherent Forcefield will take care of the hits and the fire. Even if he gets too much for me, it sounds like there are enough big-time capes there that we can take him."

A shiver runs down your spine. That list of people who could beat her? Lung's likely on there, too. You try to force that thought away. Like she said, she won't be alone. Alexandria and Legend will be there at the least, and probably lots of other Protectorate leaders. That could easily be where Chevalier is, too. With so many capable fighters around, she'll be okay.

You hope.

"If you think that's where you need to be," you tell her, "then that's where you need to be. I'm headed after Purity. Remember what she said when we talked to her? She said she was trying to turn her life around, be a hero. Then she backed up the Empire, but afterwards she split off and headed in a completely different direction." You shake your head. "Something about this just isn't adding up. We're missing something."

"That something might be that she's the Simurgh's tool now," warns Samantha.

"It might be, but…. One of the things Alexandria told me when we were getting cleared to leave was that if a hero got an indeterminate result, they were given the benefit of the doubt, but if a villain got the same, they were thrown back into the city. Purity said she was a hero, but no one believed her. What if she got a yellow rating? By those standards, she should have been released if that's the case. There's just too much we don't know about what happened."

"That's the real reason you're going after her, isn't it? You're thinking about trying to sit down and talk with her about what she was thinking," your Guardian Beast elaborates at your look of confusion.

"It isn't my _plan_ , but I haven't ruled it out, no."

The raccoon-woman thinks about that for a second before nodding. "Considering how she acted the one time we met, she might be the safest one to try that with. Just don't go so far to get her to talk that you wind up putting your head on the chopping block, okay? Try to get proof that she's safe _before_ approaching her if you can."

"I'm not going to do anything stupid."

She smiles and pulls you into a one-armed hug. "You're a teenager. What you consider stupid and what objectively is stupid aren't necessarily the same thing."

"Okay, okay. You don't have to be such a mother hen. I'll be fine." You're smiling as you say that, though, and she sees it for the joke it is if her own grin is anything to go by. "I'll keep you informed. You do the same."

"Will do."

You take to the air and look around. Let's see, it's afternoon, so sun's to the west. The soldier said Purity and company were headed north towards Maine, which would be… that way! Tapping the button on the wristband, you tell it, "Calamity Witch, joining the chase for Purity."

" _One moment, please,"_ the clearly automated voice replies. A moment passes before another voice comes over the line. " _This is Revel. We're at the following coordinates: 43.140796, -70.693652. The wristband will lead you here. Get here as fast as you can."_

Get there as fast as you can? Why does that not fill you with confidence?

"Storm, can you point me toward those coordinates?" Rather than answer with sound, a blinking icon pops up in your field of vision, far ahead and slightly to the right. Perfect. Turning to face it, you throw everything you have into your flight spell. Maneuverability, inertial dampening, draft deflection; all stripped from the formula in favor of pure speed. The whistling of the wind and a faint rumbling around you are your only companions for nearly a minute, but then the icon looms large in your vision and you kick the rest of the spell's components back into place.

The only good thing about the ungraceful and incredibly nauseating spin-tumble-flail you do in midair is that you're pretty sure you were going too fast for anyone to see it.

"Hey, who're you?!"

You raise the hand holding Perfect Storm between you and the guy who just spoke, your other hand still clapped over your mouth. Only once you're sure you're not about to lose your lunch do you look up at him. Your first thought is _Holy shit muscles_. Your second thought is _Ewwwww_.

Thankfully, the object of your attention remains unaware of the direction of your thoughts. He crosses his arms over his chest with difficulty – not surprising since it looks like someone stripped all the muscles from a six-foot-plus bodybuilder and shoved them onto his five-foot-four-ish frame – and repeats, "Who are you?"

"Calamity Witch. Revel told me to meet her here."

At your name, the boy hero relaxes and starts flying off, waving for you to come along. Compared to the speeds you were just going, it feels like you're just bobbing along behind him. "Sorry about the greeting. We've already had one cape come along who we thought was here to help out only for him to start fighting against us, so Revel has some of us rotating out to provide security at the edge and make sure they don't get any other reinforcements. She did tell me you were coming, but you got here so quickly I had to make sure it was actually you. Name's Strapping Lad," he finishes with what's probably supposed to be a roguish grin.

And suddenly the too-tight spandex makes sense.

Avoiding that topic, you keep your mind on business. "Who was the new cape, who else is with Purity, and who's on our side?"

"Just Purity and three capes for them, but maybe twenty or thirty civilians of all ages. Newbie had armor and a spear. Makes a bunch of ghosty copies that can fly. A strong enough punch will break them up, but any lasers or anything go right through them, and their spears will slip through stuff unless it hits flesh. Another guy turns into a lot of mist. Can't blast it away, and everyone who tried to go in started choking and crying. Third one I don't know much about other than she's the most dangerous. The people who went into the mist and didn't immediately come out? They started screaming, and a lot of them were on the ground with their arms or legs cut off, even the Brutes. A couple are dead."

Those powers are extremely familiar to you, as they would be to any Brocktonite. Crusader, Fog, Night.

"That's why it's taking so long for us to bring them in," Strapping Lad continues, pointing ahead to a white, yellow, and red light show above a block of cars. "The normal people are in cars, but any time we try to stop them, Purity will blast anybody coming close and ghost-guy sends a bunch of minions out. We distract them and sneak up, and the mist cape and the other one come out to play. Then we back off, get our wounded away, and the cars keep moving."

Yeah, that's not a bad plan on the ex-Empire capes' part. Or maybe just Empire capes; Purity said she had flipped, but the other three just kind of vanished for a while. Why? No one knows.

"What about blasting the cars from range?" you ask. It's not a question you like, but it's one that has to be voiced even if only so the option can be rejected.

Strapping Lad nods, your tone betraying your thoughts of that course of action. "I know we were given the all-clear to use lethal force, but we agreed on the way over here that we would only turn to that if we had no other choice. We'd rather cuff the villains and drag everyone back to Brockton Bay; they want to leave, they can go through the clearance process just like everybody else. 'Course, we may need to do it. If we had our whole group, we could probably handle it, but once that other group of villains popped out of the woodwork and headed south, our fastest fliers and several Shakers got pulled off to go after them. More capes there than here, and the other Nazi group was giving enough trouble that no one thought it was a good idea to take heroes away from that fight. That was before Casper showed up, though.

"Lady Photon and Laserdream are tag-teaming Purity. They're the only fliers we have left who're fast enough to keep up with her. Me and Python and Ogre have been rotating out trying to get rid of the ghosts, but none of us are invulnerable, and those spears hurt. We've got a couple more Shakers who weren't hurt enough that they have to leave, but they're still hanging back while Infusion tries to patch them up. Revel's in charge, but her blasts don't go fast enough to hit Purity, can't hurt the ghosts, and she can't see inside the fog to know who's friend and foe. That's why she was so eager to get you here." He waves at the standoff before you. "Wherever you can help, we need it bad."

* * *

 **For all of Taylor's fanon love of beefcake, it's worth a reminder that she makes a mention somewhere early on in canon (I forget exactly where, but I was told by a player early in Arc 6) that she isn't a fan of bodybuilder-style musculature. Brian's form, on the other hand, was more natural and normal-looking.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	51. Escapades 5-4

**Escapades 5.4**

« _Hey, Samantha, you know the thing about trying to talk to Purity? I'm going to give that plan a shot, after all_.»

« _Yeah, sure. Keep safe_.»

You blink. That was… oddly short, to say the least. « _Everything going okay over there?_ »

« _About as— Get back here, you overgrown salamander! —as you'd expect. Lung is a pain in the ass, and don't get me started on Oni Lee again._ »

You can't help but softly smile at that. Despite her complaints, she doesn't sound that irritated. It almost sounds like she's enjoying herself a little. «Need any help?»

« _Nah, I think we got— No, no, no, don't eat that! …I'll call you back in a bit, okay?_ »

"Something funny?" Strapping Lad asks, a scowl sitting heavily on his face. You don't know if his displeasure is because of you or the situation up ahead, but right now, you're where it's aimed.

You can forgive him, though. Considering how this fight has been going, he's probably a little stressed. "Just something my partner said. I think where you need me most is with Purity. I know she can fly faster than this." A little bit of a lie, but one that's easy to sell to somebody who doesn't even know the names of the villains he's facing. It will be harder to convince the members of New Wave who are here. They may not be winning, not from this perspective, but you remember the sheer venom with which Purity talked about the public hero group. With whatever history they have, they'll want to continue that fight on their own, no matter what arguments you bring to the table.

Not unless you change the situation to one they can't ignore.

Your magic triangle appears below you and spins faster and faster. "Get the civilians out of here."

"That's what we're trying—"

His words get cut off as a wave of twisted not-color washes out the hues and vibrancy of the world. The musclebound Brute vanishes, as does his compatriots you could previously see. The light show where Photon and Laserdream are fighting Purity does not abate, nor does the cloud where Fog has positioned himself. The cars with the civilians should all be gone, though, stuck in the real world with the Brutes. Crusader's ghosts are floating around in aimless surprise, so he's still around, and Night… _should_ be here with you, but you can't know that so long as you don't see her, which is kind of her whole schtick to begin with.

« _Call Revel's wristband,_ » you order Perfect Storm. « _Let her know there's nothing to worry about._ »

" _What did you do?!"_ the leading heroine's voice yells at you a second later.

Now is really not the time for her to get distracted. Sighing, you fly towards the airborne battle while answering, « _I pulled the four of us and at least three of the villains into a pocket dimension. Sort of. Night I don't know about, but even if she isn't here, she doesn't have Fog to protect her. The Brutes should be able to handle her, and I told Strapping Lad to go ahead and get the civilians back to Brockton Bay_ »—you dodge an errant scarlet laser—« _or wherever we're supposed to be taking them. If you can go after Fog and Crusader now that there aren't any innocents around, I'll try to get New Wave to back you up._ »

Forming a single Flare bullet, you send it towards the three combatants ahead of you and detonate it. It doesn't hurt anyone, but it gets their attention. Now that they're distracted from the fight, they look around and realize that something big happened while they were otherwise occupied. "Revel needs your help with the others," you tell the mother-and-daughter pair. "I'll keep her busy until you're done."

"We got this," Laserdream snaps back, her eyes still fixed on Purity.

"Full-body forcefield," you explain. You aren't boasting, but you know down in your bones that your Barrier Jacket is tougher than their shields, Laserdream's in particular. She's the offense to her mother's well-roundedness and her late brother's defense. "And I'm faster than either of you. But there are two of you, so you'll be more help against Crusader."

Just like the last time you saw the ex-Nazi Blaster, your mask has compensated for the glare of her powers. It gives you a good look at the growing expression of rage on her face. That's not what you hoped for when you decided to erect the dimensional barrier. Waving for Lady Photon and Laserdream to go away, you drift closer to the glowing woman. Maybe a stupid idea as her hands shine brighter, but if you're lucky it will keep her on the back foot long enough to calm things down. "Let's get away from here," you suggest, nudging your head towards the distance behind her. "Put some space between us and everyone else."

"What could possibly make you think I'll do that?"

Well, at least she's not shooting yet? You roll your head in a circle, exaggerating the motion to glance at the other heroines without being obvious about it. Still there, unfortunately, but slowly moving away. They are just being cautious in case your plan fails horrifically, not knowing that their very presence makes it more difficult. Looking back at her, you whisper, "We can't talk here."

Purity blinks.

"I figure you'd want to get away from your teammates, too," you say louder for New Wave's benefit. "Less chance of a stray shot hurting someone you'd rather leave uninjured."

"…Okay, then," she agrees slowly. Very slowly, visibly struggling to figure out what in the world you're doing. You wish her luck with that; _you_ don't even know your plan. You are just making things up as you go. "Maybe some distance would be for the best. This way?"

"Works for me."

Side by side, you fly away. Purity's eyes are fixed on you, watching for any signs of duplicity. Your eyes keep flicking back to her just to make sure she isn't about to sucker punch you and go back to the fight. Judging that you've gone far enough, you slow to a halt. Now, how are you going to open this conversation in a way that isn't guaranteed to go straight to hell?

"What are you doing?" the shining ex-villain demands. "Shooting me, then saying you want to talk and bringing me out here. All you've done is isolate yourself from your allies."

"That's true, but my allies and I may not want the same thing. They want to throw you back into Brockton Bay. I want to know _why_. Why did you run? Why did you join up with the Empire again to get out?" She still looks uncertain, and you sigh and pull off your hat to run your hand through your hair while Perfect Storm floats innocuously beside you. "Do you remember what you told me when we first met, about how you wanted to turn over a new leaf, put the past behind you, become a hero and do the right thing? I wanted to believe you. I _still_ want to believe you. All this? Makes it harder for me to do that.

"Maybe you have a good reason for breaking out. I would love it if you did. So _convince me_. Give me something I can take back to Revel and the rest of the Protectorate, something I can use to get you re-evaluated to leave. The world needs all the heroes it can get, official Protectorate or not, so _give me_ a reason to help you."

Purity has been staring at you throughout your speech, but now she looks away. "It's not that simple."

"No, it's not. But this won't end unless you can give me and them something that puts your actions in a better light than just _'I didn't want to wait ten months to get cleared to leave'_."

"Is that what you think this is about?!" she shouts. "About me, my happiness? That I'm doing this out of boredom?!"

"I don't know what this is about because you haven't told me!"

The woman shakes for a moment, her hands clenched tight, before she takes a deep breath. This is it; you're about to get shot, and Samantha will never let you live it down. "This has nothing to do with me. If that's all it was, I would have gone through the screening and been let go. I _know_ I wasn't affected by the Simurgh."

You bite your tongue. The only people who can truly know they aren't affected by the Scream are those unaffected by telepathy like you and Samantha and Alexandria, but now probably is not the best time to push that. Instead, you focus on what else she said. "You didn't even try to get screened? Why?"

"Do you know who gets screened?" Yes, you do, but you shake your head slowly so she can make whatever point it is she wants to make. "Capes. That's it. Civilians need not apply." Purity struggles with her words for a moment before admitting, "I… I have a daughter, my baby girl. I had to leave her home when I went to fight. I hoped the people I left her with would be able to get her out, but… they didn't make it out in time. She isn't even a year old. There's no way I was going to abandon her in this hellhole, but the PRT would never let me take her with me."

"Couldn't you just explain that to them? Tell them you had a small child and you needed her screened too so you could both leave?"

She shakes her head, the motion furious. "They wouldn't have done it. Do you remember the protests that happened shortly after the Madison attack? They were anti-cape protesters, so most people ignored them, but they raised a valid question. If capes could be screened and let go after the fight, why couldn't the same be done for the civilians? The PRT's official position is that the precogs who can test for influence are needed elsewhere, that's it's a waste of their talents to have them spend the weeks or months it would take to clear everybody. That's why there is a protocol for civilians to be screened by psychologists over several months; it's less resource intensive, supposedly. They would never screen A— my daughter if it would open them up to further criticisms along those lines."

"So why not just wait to get cleared?" you tentatively ask. Chances are slim she won't take that question badly, and sure enough, Purity glares at you. "Several months, you said. Keep it together for that long, and you and she could both get out and go on with your lives."

"Tell me, have you ever met someone who was permitted to leave Madison?" Again, you shake your head. "Few people have. There aren't a many who get cleared in the first place, and those who do are treated like lepers. Doesn't matter their age, their occupation, nothing. Then I got to listen to all the things we would have to do if we were released. Every employer has to be told that you were in a containment zone. Every landlord. Every bank. Every school. Every individual you enter into a contract with. Even security for every public place you enter. If you have the tattoo, you're treated like you're subhuman." Her lips twist nastily at the irony before returning to a scowl. "If it was just me…. Maybe. Maybe I'd go through with it. But not her. She's just a baby, but she would grow up being treated like a monster. No one would ever accept her. She would never get a chance to live like a normal person. I _will not_ condemn her to that.

"But what other choice do I have? Stay in Brockton Bay? Yes, supplies will keep coming in so long as people are trapped here, but inside those walls everything is falling apart. The Merchants' numbers are exploding with everyone who jumps into the shit with them. Just walking down the street poses the risk of being murdered for a few bucks so they can get high. Is that where _you_ would want to raise a child?" She lets out a slow breath. "We can't stay. We can't wait to be let go. So yes, when Kaiser approached me with the offer to help us, I took it. I agreed to help him get out. And once we were free, I left them again so I could get myself and my little girl somewhere where no one would know who we are and where we could start over.

"You wanted my reasons? There you go. I helped the Empire, I broke out, I fought all you heroes who came after me because I don't have any other choice. Now," she says, pulling herself together and spitting out her words in derision, "you made a lot of big promises. You said you wanted to 'help me'. What do you really think you can do?"

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	52. Escapades 5-5

**Escapades 5.5**

You keep your nervous swallow mostly silent. Your plan to convince Purity to stop attacking the heroes and return to the side of the angels was still a good one, you feel, but maybe you underestimated how difficult accomplishing that would be. Just a little bit. It doesn't help matters that considering her intentions, her actions are understandable. Not how you would have chosen to go about things, but you see why she made the choices she did.

How are you going to reconcile her goals with the Protectorate's when they seem to be mutually exclusive?

This would be so much easier if you actually had some pull with the national hero group, but as much as staying merely affiliated had made it easier to be treated as an adult rather than being pushed into the Wards, right now you would be happy to have some influence in the group's decisions of how to treat heroes' families! Purity was trying to turn her life around, and she's powerful enough that the Protectorate should be happy to have her in their ranks, but because of their….

Your eyes brighten. That's it. That's the answer!

Purity takes one look at your maniacal grin and scoots away.

"Hey, Purity?" The glowing woman nods in acknowledgement while moving another five feet back. "You said you were doing all this to help your daughter, right? Is there anything you wouldn't do for her? Even if it was inconvenient to you personally, if it would protect her, would you put up with it?"

"Yes…?"

The smile on your face broadens even more. "Then I might just have a plan."

It takes a few more minutes to hash everything out, not to mention reminding the other heroine that this is probably the only chance she has to get out of this mess alive and together with her daughter, but finally you and she fly side by side back to the fight. Which is not going well for the Empire capes, you can't help but notice as you watch twin lasers and colorful explosives zap down towards the carpet of mist below. Fog and Night are trapped on the ground, and while Crusader can fly, it is only by being carried in the arms of his ghosts. With all three heroes airborne and no civilians to be careful around, they clearly have the advantage. That isn't to say that the fight is entirely one-sided; the quirk of Crusader's powers that makes it selectively intangible is forcing the heroes to be careful of the floating specters, each of them breaking off at different times to engage the ghosts in hand to hand combat for long enough to shatter the fragile constructs.

Time to break this impasse. A score of Flare Shooters race between the two groups, arranging themselves in a wall before they explode into brilliant orange flashes that are bright enough to leave everyone blinking the stars out of their eyes. Even the projections are affected, just as Purity assured you they would be.

You trusted her to tell the truth, but it's nice to have that trust validated.

"Hey, hey, hey!" you shout, getting your allies' attention. "Let's all just take a breath and calm down. We really don't have to keep fighting."

The other heroines stare at you in utter bewilderment, but it is Laserdream who finally puts words to her confusion. "What are you talking about— Behind you!"

A couple of Crusaders, apparently taking advantage of your group's division, have leveled their spears and shields in preparation to stab you in the back. Their charge stumbles to a halt when Purity's shout cracks like a whip through the air. "Crusader! That's enough!"

The duplicates turn to look at her with the same expressions your own allies gave you, and one of them points at you and makes a complicated twirling gesture.

"I said, that's enough," the shining woman repeats, moving forwards to float at your side. "Back down."

"Calamity Witch?" Revel asks slowly, her eyes darting back and forth between you and the bright aurora that only you can see through. "What's going on?"

You give her a faint smile as the words of the Earth Aleph pirate movie some of the Privateers insisted you and your dad watch come back to you. "Parley?"

"What."

"Purity and I had a nice little chat and came up with a possible solution that doesn't have to involve us spending the rest of the night blasting each other all over the sky. Purity, you want to take it from here?"

She nods and moves ahead another few feet, no longer using you as a human shield against your allies. "Call your headquarters. I would like to speak with someone in charge in regards to the conditions for my surrender and defection."

"You… want to join… the Protectorate."

"That is correct."

"Revel, please tell me you are not actually considering this insanity," Lady Photon hisses through clenched teeth. "She's a goddamn Nazi."

"If you used your eyes, you would know that I left Empire Eighty-Eight a year and a half ago. The only reason I worked alongside them today was because that was what offered me the best chance of escaping the walls around Brockton Bay."

"Walls that were built to keep you and all the rest of you villains inside where you couldn't hurt anybody else." Golden light pools around hands belonging to the leader of the now much-reduced New Wave. "You're a Ziz-bomb. We all know it, or you wouldn't have been stuck there."

"How could you _'know'_ whether I'm the Simurgh's tool when I was never screened for her influence in the first place?" asks Purity in a pleasant voice. "Revel, I am of course happy to be screened and my right to leave Brockton Bay proven prior to meeting with anyone in person regarding my request."

Poor Revel had been glancing back and forth between the arguing artillery capes, but you can see in her hesitant expression and weighty gaze where she is leaning. "Are you serious about turning yourself in and working with the Protectorate?"

"I am." She twitches, her arms coming across her body to wrap herself in a hug, but her voice betrays none of her nervousness. This is the part that has the second-biggest chance to blow up in your faces. "And as a show of my good faith…." She turns to the myriad of ghosts. "Crusader, tell Fog to return to normal. We're going back to Brockton Bay."

The spirits move away to give Crusader, the real one this time, the space he and his palanquin of ghosts need to rise up where the rest of you are. "Purity, you can't be serious about this. After everything you went through to get out, you're going to let yourself be put back _in_?" She nods, but that just seems to be the proof he needs. His ghosts whip around to point their weapons at you. "You! You're a fucking Master, aren't you?!"

The former villainess darts between you and him. "That's enough. You remember what I told you, don't you? My reason for doing all this?" He watches her a moment before jutting out his chin in defiance. All that bravado dries up when she continues, though. "Calamity Witch isn't a Master. She just convinced me that this had a better chance of succeeding."

"So it is all a trick!" exclaims Laserdream.

Purity glances at the younger Pelham Blaster before switching her gaze to Lady Photon, who appears just as unconvinced as her child. "Is there anything, anything at all, you wouldn't do if it would protect your daughter?"

"Is that a threat?"

She waves away Lady Photon's growl. "No. Not in the slightest. I am just making sure you understand the reasons behind my own actions."

It takes a moment for Lady Photon to see the implication, but when it does, her face turns into a morass of conflicting expressions. Several tense moments pass before she averts her eyes and glares at the distant horizon.

With that crisis defused, Revel drifts closer. "If your teammates will stand down, and if Calamity Witch will reverse whatever it is she's done to trap us all here, I'll get in touch with someone at the base. Radio can't seem to get out of this pocket dimension of hers," she explains, though her unimpressed look is aimed at you.

You just shrug. If this fight had continued, cutting off the group's routes of escapes would have been invaluable. It isn't your fault you didn't have definite plans to make this a diplomatic resolution when you cast the spell.

Everything around you blurs once the other villains have returned to normal, and then the vibrant hues and sounds and smells of the real world seep back in. The convoy of refugees is already a decent distance from your positions, the drivers reluctant to return to their prison but unwilling to go against the flying Brutes without capes of their own backing them up. Revel waves for all of you to stay where you are, and then she pushes a button on her wristband. "Control, I need to speak to whoever the highest-ranking cape is who is part of the Thinker group."

Several seconds later, a tinny voice replies, though the volume is too low for you to make out what was said. "Arbiter, glad to hear it. We have a bit of a situation over here." She shakes her head at whatever the reply was. "No, not that bad. Almost good. Purity surrendered and asked to join the Protectorate. Yes. Yes, I know. I actually think she is serious. I have no idea. She says she was never screened in the first place. It pertains to her secret ID; that is all I am comfortable divulging." Revel glances back at all of you before turning back to her wristband. "If it were a trick, she would have made a break for it by now. And you think this is in _my_ pay grade? She is a Blaster 8, remember. …Yes, that should work. That should work just fine. Okay. See you when we get there."

Ending the call, Revel shakes her head. "All right, everybody. Let's go back to Brockton Bay before I realize what a terrible idea this is."

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The trip back to the city is much slower than was the one to the fight, partly because the cars you are escorting cannot reach the same speeds as your flight and partly because the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. The soaring Brutes had to be warned multiple times not to attack the ex-Empire capes, and the look of betrayal Strapping Lad shot you when he first spotted you flying at Purity's left side was all you needed to know that he considers you nothing more than unprincipled pond scum.

It probably gave him and Laserdream something to talk about during the flight.

Once you reach a certain distance from the walls, another group of capes move into view. For a moment you are justifiably worried that you are going to have to stop yet another fight, but they simply direct Purity's group and you to a small clearing a short distance from the road. They take up defensive positions around you, but Purity by and large ignores them and simply reclaims her baby from Night's arms.

You aren't sure how long you wait, whether it is half an hour or more than two, but eventually the guards move away to allow three capes to descend to the ground in front of you. The first pounces on you, shifting into a raccoon just before she lands in your arms.

The second crosses his arms and watches your neighbor with obvious suspicion. "Purity."

"Legend."

The caped hero shakes his head and turns to you. "I hope you realize just what kind of a mess you've caused."

"A smaller and less bloody one than there would have been otherwise?"

He sighs and nods. "Fair enough. Let's get the easy part out of the way. Blackjack, chances she will act to further the Simurgh's plans?"

The third cape tilts his head, the green visor and domino mask matching the smoking vest of his casino dealer theme. "Five high."

"That she'll stab her team in the back if we let her in the Protectorate?"

"Two pair, jacks and threes." Blackjack hums to himself. "Clubs are wild, hearts trump spades."

Legend makes some sound, and it takes you a second to recognize it as a huff of reluctant amusement. "Las Vegas is right out, then, isn't it?"

The Thinker shrugs his shoulders. "He _would_ have it coming."

"Don't remind me. I'm still figuring out what to do with him." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Legend sighs once again. "Thank you again for the help, Blackjack. One of the fliers can take you back to Misstep." The other cape departs, leaving him, Purity, and you and Samantha alone. "Well, you're unlikely to be influenced by the Simurgh," Legend allows, "and so long as everyone acts like responsible adults, you probably wouldn't betray your team if I let you join the Protectorate. So." He stands straight and crosses his arms behind his back. "Make your pitch. What do you want, and why should I give it to you?"

It's now or never. You meet Purity's eyes, a pure white domino mask concealing her identity now that her glow is switched off, and give her a nod. While you were waiting, you talked to her about some of the restrictions she could offer herself; hopefully, by acknowledging that she had made mistakes and was willing to endure some punishment for them, the Protectorate and PRT at large would cut her some slack and actually let her climb out of the hole she had dug for herself during her time as a villain.

"What I want is simple," she begins. "Your own Thinker has proven that had I undergone screening immediately following the fight, I would have been allowed to leave. The only reason I did not is that I have a young daughter, and by leaving her behind, not only would I have abandoned her, I would have left her in Kaiser's clutches, where she would have been groomed to be the third hereditary leader of the Empire. That is not the life I want for her. As no one has ever proved that infants can be affected by the Simurgh's Scream, I want permission for us to leave without tattoos or other restrictions that we would have to suffer were we processed out of the quarantine zone as civilians.

"As for why you should give it to me. I have earned my rating of Blaster 8. I will not be so arrogant as to say that I am as good as you"—ah, it looks like the Triumvirate's artillery has also heard about the 'evil Legend' description—"but I am still one of the most powerful in the country. My abilities would be an asset to any of your branches. You don't need to worry that this is some elaborate plot to take advantage of your generosity only to betray you, either. I have tried to be a hero for the last year and a half, doing everything I could to whittle away Lung's support base. Due to my history as a villain and the se— and other issues, those efforts were ignored. Should you give me the chance to build a new reputation somewhere else, or even just to work on fixing the reputation I already have somewhere the distrust is not so personal, I would not squander the opportunity.

"I know you don't trust me," she admits, meeting Legend's eyes. "I don't blame you. I spent ten years as a villain, and from your perspective, it probably looks like I'm trying to coerce you into ignoring the crimes I committed. But I am not asking you to give me your trust. I am asking only for the chance to earn it. I am willing and happy to be placed under whatever restrictions you think reasonable. Continuous oversight, docked salary to be transferred to those I have injured, house arrest or community service when not on duty; whatever you think is necessary to determine whether or not I have really changed and want to make up for my crimes, and for however long you think is deserved. I will not challenge it or ask for leniency. And," she adds in a soft voice, glancing down at the bundle in her arms, "if you decide that what I deserve is to spend time in prison first, I ask that you put my daughter with a trustworthy foster family until my sentence is complete."

You whip your head around to stare at her. That was not in the script!

"Just… stop," Legend finally says, rubbing both temples with one hand. "You have certainly put some thought into this, I'll give you that much. If I didn't know better, I would think this was your plan from the beginning rather than something Calamity Witch supposedly came up with on the spur of the moment."

A weak, embarrassed smile is all you can offer the world's premier Blaster.

"Volunteering to be placed under heavy restrictions was a nice touch, and the plea about fostering? If you love your daughter only half as much as I love my son, I know giving her up would be suffering of the highest order." He sighs. "But that is the issue. It isn't just you we have to be concerned about. No one has ever proven that infants are vulnerable to the Simurgh, true, but neither have they been proven to be immune. No one survived Lausanne, and the infants and toddlers exposed to the Scream in her attack on London are just turning nine and ten this year. They are still too young to have the influence and power her long-term plans are suspected to require. To ignore completely the threat your daughter has the potential to pose would be a disservice to everyone the Protectorate has sworn to defend."

Purity lights up, and it is only the cries of her child at the sudden brightness that forces her to let go of her powers. "So that's it? A baby _might_ become a threat, so go ahead and kill them all? Deny any of them any kind of life when the chances of them being the Simurgh's weapons are so small? You claim to love your son. Would you force that fate on _him_ like you want to do to _her_?!"

For a moment, you are afraid they are about to come to blows, but although Legend's eyes spark with fury, the hand he raised has a warning finger pointing at her face. "You want to join the Protectorate? Lesson number one: think very carefully before you make accusations you can't take back. Do you think I haven't laid awake at night with that exact nightmare running through my head, wondering what I would do if I had to choose between my son and every other child in the world? Do you think I like the idea that there are children growing up who will never know what it is like not to be feared for something they can't even remember? No matter how much I dislike it, there are times when the needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few."

There is silence in the clearing for nearly a minute. Glancing around, you notice Crusader intently listening to the conversation, though Night and Fog seem to be off in their own little world.

A breath, and Legend takes a step back. "That being said, this situation is somewhat different than most involving the so-called Ziz-babies. There are not enough psychologists to work with every child who was potentially affected by the Scream, but if you join the Protectorate and live on base, there would be a child psychologist already available who could monitor and evaluate her as she grew up. You would be extensively tested to make sure you were not being used as the vector for the Simurgh's plots. If she triggers, she would join the Wards where her activities and use of her powers could be likewise monitored. These restrictions might eventually be lifted, but there is a good chance that wouldn't be until she is nearly or really is an adult."

The ex-villain frowns, but after a long few seconds she nods. She knows, just as you do, this is likely the best she is going to get.

"One more thing. You said that I would not have to worry that this is a trap. You're right. I won't. You want a chance to be better than you were? You'll get one chance. You slip up, you even look like you're going back to your old ways, and a life sentence in a maximum security prison where you will never see your daughter again will be the _best_ -case scenario." He fixes her with an intent stare. "Is that understood?"

Transferring her infant to her left hip, Purity sticks out her right hand. "I accept."

It takes only a moment before Legend clasps her hand and gives it a single pump.

"As fucking sweet as this is, I think you're forgetting something." Legend and Purity turn questioning to Crusader. The armored villain has not moved from the fallen tree he claimed as a bench, but there is a tension to his body that wasn't there before. Your grip tightens on Perfect Storm as you ready yourself to get into yet another fight. "What about the rest of us?"

Purity cringes. "I… I'm sorry, Crusader, but—"

"But what? You think you're just going to run off and leave all of us behind? That we'd let you do something as fucking stupid as sticking your head in a lion's mouth?" He shakes his head. "You got room for her, Rainbow Man. You got room for another."

Legend crosses his arms, his disbelief obvious. " _You_ want to be a hero?"

"Nope." Crusader pushes himself to his feet and walks over, a hint of swagger to his steps. "Purity, I think you're nuts for doing this. Completely fucking crazy. But if you're not going to watch your back, I'm stuck doing it for you."

"And what is the cause for this altruism?"

Crusader shoots Legend an unimpressed look. "I owe her the kind of debt you don't just forget about. And I don't trust you. That's reason enough for me."

"You're willing to be under the same restrictions and penalties as Purity?" The villain nods. "Fine. Maybe you'll surprise me and won't immediately find yourself in prison." Legend's voice reveals how unlikely he considers that. "Life in New Orleans will certainly be interesting, even for that city. That just leaves what to do with your other allies, and no, they will not be accepted onto any Protectorate team. Not with their crimes and their body counts."

Purity hesitates for a moment before bowing her head. "I understand. But if I may suggest something, you might have them professionally evaluated before you decide what to do with them. Their training with Gesellschaft left them… broken, and while I won't say they aren't responsible for their actions, someone who knows what he is doing should determine if it wouldn't be appropriate for them to be sent to an asylum rather than a prison."

« _Come on_ ,» Samantha whispers in your head. « _You've helped her as much as you can. The rest of this is for them to figure out on their own._ »

Nodding in resignation, you walk over, interrupting the trio's argument, and lay one hand on Purity's shoulder. She looks back at you and gives you a weak smile. Legend, after looking you up and down, huffs softly and tilts his head towards the sky, an unmistakable signal that your job here is done.

And that's that.

Rising into the air, you begin the short flight back to base, your Guardian Beast hanging off one side of your jacket. "I take it Lung's dealt with if you're accompanying Legend to a negotiation?"

« _I wish. Shortly after sundown, he took off back into the ruins near the hole he made, and for all that he's a giant fire-breathing lizard, he's really good at hiding. He grew a lot faster than I expected,_ » she admits, « _but I was right about Shredding Claw. I couldn't get enough hits in to make him squishy, but his resistance didn't grow like the rest of him. Alexandria decided to hold off trying to fight him while he was in hiding because he'd start shrinking once there was no one fighting, and Legend wanted me to come along because you went and made everything more difficult for him._ » There is a smile tinging those thoughts. « _We're splitting the group when we get back to work tomorrow. Some of us going after Lung while the others hold off the Fallen and the Teeth, and Alexandria and Legend both said they want me there when they enter the city to track him down._ »

Hunting down Lung in what are presumably ruins where you never know if he's going to pop up around the corner you just passed? You shudder as the terror of that thought runs down your spine. There are a number of reasons you've become attached to your ranged powers, and the much decreased chance of something stronger than you stalking you is definitely one of them. Searching for something to say in response to her enthusiasm, though, you finally come up with, "You sound like you had fun."

The raccoon gives you a smile full of sharp teeth. « _I am a Guardian Beast of the Sword. Getting up close and personal to defeat powerful enemies is what we were designed for. Join us tomorrow, and I'll show you what I mean._ »

"Uh, let me think about it."

* * *

 **This was _not_ supposed to run this smoothly, but one of the players (Khazinthedark, specifically) had an absolutely beautiful plan that I couldn't not run with.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	53. Escapades 5-6

**Escapades 5.6**

 **Monday, April 11  
** Stone walls soar high in the sky, the sun and stars hidden from sight by the thick black fog drifting above you. Even just looking at that miasma makes you shudder; there is something _wrong_ about it, something that sets your teeth on edge.

You walk slowly down the corridor, heels clicking disturbingly loud on the floor. For several minutes, you think you are in a maze, but despite all the corners you have to take, the path never forks, never splits. It is just a single winding hallway, desolate and unfamiliar. Walking around yet another turn, you finally see something different. Down this hall there is light streaming through the cracks in the wooden door at the very end. It is a welcome reprieve from the blandness of the previous walls, but you find yourself wondering whether it might not be as inviting as it first appears. What is it doing here? What is that light? What lurks behind the threshold?

With a soft click, the door creaks open.

Quiet snuffling draws you closer, and you peer inside only to catch sight of a tiny patch of land in the middle of a wide pool of bubbling water. On that island is a small girl with blonde hair, her arms bound together with gleaming chains leading down into the water. She looks up, baby blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Calamity Witch," she breathes, hope and terror and pain mixed together in her voice and on her face. "Help me. Please, help me."

"I…" You glance around at the stark surroundings. "Who are you? What is this place?"

" _Please_ ," the girl begs. Fat tears stream down her cheeks. "You're the only one who can free me. It's coming. I can't stop it. I can't escape." She shakes her bound arms, the links of the chains clinking with each movement. "I need you to let me go. If it catches up to us—"

"Taylor," a distant voice says. Colors wash out of the surroundings, and the girl screams in pain. " _Taaaaaylor_."

You blink your eyes open to find Samantha leaning over you, her mouth stretched in a wide smile. "Time to wake up, sleepyhead. We've got a lot of work to do today."

Sitting up, you shake your head and try to pull your mind out of the haze left behind by that… dream? Memory? It isn't the first time you've dreamed of something you have never done, something impossible on Earth Bet but maybe possible on whatever world the original Calamity Witch hails from. Perfect Storm doesn't have the information you need to know whether those dreams really were scenes from your progenitor's life, but if so, it's clear her world was violent. In hindsight, the comparisons between her planet and the war-torn regions of Africa that are constantly torn apart by various parahuman warlords were not that far off.

That said, this feels different, more like it was you talking for yourself and not echoing Calamity Witch's long-gone words. Or maybe it was just because you were already mostly awake and lucid dreaming. There is really no way to know for certain.

A thought to Perfect Storm deploys your Barrier Jacket, and then you're out of your bed and mostly ready for the day ahead. "You're still going"—a yawn interrupts you—"going after the ABB today?"

"Yeah. I feel kind of obligated to," she says with a negligent shrug. "When the last two active members of the Triumvirate specifically ask for my help, I can't think of a good reason to turn them down. What about you? I know you weren't sure last night where you could do the most good, but there is still plenty of room going up against the ABB and the Teeth and the Fallen…. And there really are entirely too many villains fighting us and each other over there," she adds with a small frown.

"As delightful as facing off against a rage-dragon and his pet serial suicide bomber sounds," you tell her in a dry voice, "not to mention everyone else you mentioned, I thought about it before I fell asleep, and the more I look at it, the more I think they need my help the most dealing with the Empire. A bunch of Zizzed Nazis who might even now be taking over an entire town? That needs to be dealt with."

The conversations that had taken place during the group dinner the previous night had involved a great deal of discussion about which villains were still at large, and the news that the Empire contingent had made it all the way to Durham without losing a single cape or even more than two gangbangers had been a major blow to morale. Why that was made sense; the majority of capes do not have the durability required to take a bullet to the chest and keep on going, and for all that the Alexandria package is a well-known term, it is so popular because of its namesake, not because a majority of fliers are more or less indestructible. With a bunch of skinheads firing machine guns from the flying chunks of concrete Rune provided and somebody else, probably Victor, picking off the pursuers with a high-powered rifle, the heroes had little choice but to proceed with more caution, and that allowed the villains to make it to the town.

But now, after having a whole night to prepare themselves with what sounded like only a few Blasters and Shakers sticking around to harass anyone trying to sneak away? There was no predicting how fortified they had made their position.

It was inevitable that someone – in this instance, that someone being Cailleach, the same Winter Hill villain who helped you out with the Beasts during the party – would suggest hitting them with maximum force, but much like with Purity's group, the heroes' reluctance to endanger normal people posed a moral quandary. This was even more the case when those capes clamoring for Imperial blood were reminded that the citizens of Durham were not potential Simurgh victims trying to escape quarantine but simple civilians who posed no threat and just had the severe misfortune to be home at the worst possible time. The logistics of mounting such a devastating attack were likewise a major hurdle, as it would take a larger number of Blasters than they had available to raze even a town as small as this one. If Scion, the first and most powerful parahuman, were still around, he could have accomplished it, but the few other capes who are that strong are all either S-Class villains or were already killed so they could not threaten to do just that.

"I suppose," your Guardian Beast says, her expression dubious. "Just be careful. From everything we heard last night, they aren't holding back anymore. They will kill you if you give them the opportunity. Are you sure you don't want to go after the group of minor villains, instead?"

You give her a confounded look. "You think going after the Empire is too dangerous, but you invited me to come along and fight Lung? How does that logic make sense?"

"Because then I'd be there to watch your back."

…Okay, fair point.

Ignoring Samantha's smug smirk, you focus on the coordinates of the National Guard base. The PRT and National Guard had offered cots for the night to any and all capes in attendance, but you and Samantha are not meager parahumans. You are a mage, and that means using bullshit magic to sleep in your own bed. Your dad wound up taking them up on their offer, but that has less to do with him being a cape and more with him wanting to while the night away with a couple of the other Thinkers there. _Women_ Thinkers, and by the time you left, none of them looked like they were discussing plans to track the escaped villains or anything else professional, for that matter.

You can't help but wonder if Samantha's efforts to open him up to the idea of dating again might not have backfired _spectacularly_.

Samantha gives you a wave and a telepathic nudge, and then you make your way over to the crowd of capes currently gathering around what looks like a map from this distance. Spotting familiar fatigues and American flag designs, you slip between a few people and come to a stop at Miss Militia's side. "I didn't miss anything, did I?" you whisper.

"Only that none of the Empire capes left Durham overnight," she replies just as quietly. "Several of the Thinkers worked late to figure out where they might be hiding. Once they made it into the city, they went to ground."

"Okay, everybody," a cape in white with a couple of steel points rising from each shoulder and the brows of his mask says, "huddle up."

Everyone squeezes closer, and you can't help but stare as the world outside your group slows to a snail's crawl. You don't know what restrictions a power like this has, but now you _really_ want a spell that does something similar.

"Here is the most recent map of Durham we have access to," the accelerator tells all of you. "According to our Thinkers, they believe where the Empire Eighty-Eight most likely holed up overnight is one of these four areas. City hall, strip mall, university, or cathedral. There are some other spots they might also be hiding, but those are less likely. It isn't going to be easy to pull them out; they still have eight capes, all of whom are used to working together, and a large number of unpowered but well-armed foot soldiers, not to mention they've had all night for their telekinetic to fortify their location. I know a few of you are from Brockton Bay and so have fought them before," he nodded to Miss Militia and Lady Photon, who was lurking on the other side of the crowd, "and your input on what we're dealing with will be invaluable for everyone who's only joining us today. Now, I need options. Does anyone have any bright ideas for how we deal with these Nazi bastards?"

* * *

 **I can't remember if I told anyone here, but at the time this was going on in the quest, I gave the players a rundown of which capes they were dealing with: Kaiser, Fenja, Hookwolf, Cricket, Stormtiger, Victor, Othala, and Rune, plus a number of unpowered Empire members.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	54. Escapades 5-7

**Escapades 5.7**

Durham is exceedingly unexciting, you decide as you and the rest of the heroes begin your final approach. It isn't that you were expecting for there to be goose-stepping skinheads or swastikas everywhere already, but you thought there would be something unique, something _special_ that drew Kaiser to this little corner of nowhere. There isn't. It's a stark reminder that the Empire wasn't running _to_ anywhere. They were just running away in the first direction they picked. Once the most powerful gang in Brockton Bay, capable of deploying enough capes to hold off the entire local Protectorate, and this is what they've been reduced to.

You aren't sure if it is humbling or inspiring or what, but you certainly feel something stir in your heart at that thought.

"Your show now, kid," one nearby hero says, and the rest of the assembled groups slows to a halt while you shoot forwards towards the middle of the city. You would be lying if you said you weren't even a little nervous. Yes, you have cast Recursion Field before. Yes, you have done so in battle. But never has so much ridden on doing so. As soon as you revealed this spell to your group's time-accelerating leader and had its effectiveness affirmed by Lady Photon, you became the lynchpin in the battle plans that were drafted. Fighting a group of likely Zizzed villains when they had foot soldiers or even innocent hostages they could hide behind was a terrifying prospect. Once you captured them in a dimensional barrier, though, they would have nothing with which to defend themselves.

Othala. Rune. Stormtiger. Fenja. Hookwolf. Kaiser himself. Each and every one of them would be trapped and at the unlikely mercy of the thirty capes behind you. If you succeed, the only villains who retain the advantage of mooks and hostages are Victor and Cricket, and they have ten angry Brutes headed their way. If you fail, the worst-case scenario is that the Empire figures out what you tried to do and kills all the innocents around them before going on a panicked rampage.

No pressure.

Reaching the point Perfect Storm picked out as the center of the small town, you take a deep breath before you let the formula necessary for the creation of your shadowy dimensional echo run through your head. "Recursion Field," you breathe, and as you hope, the sigil appears below your feet without difficulty.

A moment later, you take in the structure of the dome and turn back to your remaining allies before flashing them a thumbs up.

No one really replies, but they turn and proceed to the most likely target: the city's university. Nazis generally are not ones for higher learning, but the choice to start here has nothing to do with ideology and everything to do with sensible tactics. The university has the largest area and the most buildings of all four locations, and those both mean more places for the villains to hide, or worse, set up an ambush. If they already have space on their side, the last thing you want is to give them time, too.

The campus looks to be only a little larger than the community college where your mom once worked, but without any students loitering around, the grounds sprawl menacingly beneath you. "Split up!" orders one woman, the flaming Chinese dragon she rides settling on the ground to let off its other passengers before splitting apart into giant animal heads that are equally alight. "Make sure you stay in sight of somebody else, and nobody better be running off alone! Pairs at least, but groups are better!"

No problem. You float towards Miss Militia, who is walking away from the dragon's landing site—

"Calamity Witch. Why don't we search over there?"

You stop and turn around slowly to face Lady Photon. Personally, you have no issues with the leader of New Wave, but considering Purity's suspicions about how they had a hand in suppressing her attempts to become known as a hero and Laserdream's none-too-quiet comments on the flight back from talking down that Empire splinter-group, the same might not be able to be said about her.

But! No need to make yourself more paranoid than you already are. Maybe she just wants to get to know another hero formerly from Brockton Bay, especially another local forcefield-using flying artillery cape— Oh god, she thinks you're some long-lost cousin or something, doesn't she?

She drifts towards where another group has already started investigating and hangs a left closer to a five-story dormitory before coming to a stop. "Now isn't the time or place to pull a stunt like you did yesterday. I hope you know that."

…Never mind, clearly paranoia was the right way to go, after all. "Are you really that bent out of shape about Purity trying to be a hero?" you demand. Of all the ludicrous things to pick a fight about, she was going to go after somebody trying to make up for her mistakes? Seriously?!

The laser-wielding mom turns to look at you with a strange expression that is soon replaced with one of enlightenment. "No, no. That isn't what I meant at all. Part of the reason the method you chose to handle yesterday worked is because you had numbers on your side. Once we were in that pocket dimension of yours, you had all the power. Depending on how you chose to act, you could have turned the fight from four-on-four to five-on-three. None of us wanted that possibility to become reality, so Revel had little choice but to bargain with you. I just didn't want you getting any bright ideas about doing something similar where all it would do is get you painted by the same brush as the Empire.

"It's a good piece of advice for another reason, too," she continues while you just stare at her in befuddlement. _That_ is the reason she thought Revel sided with you instead of with her? "You got extremely lucky with Purity. She was desperate, and you had what she wanted. That won't happen every time. It won't happen most times, even. Show your back to a villain again, and you'll only have yourself to blame when they stab a knife in it."

You open your mouth to reply to that insanity – was it really so hard for Lady Photon to believe that somebody who made mistakes, even big mistakes, just might realize what she had done and try to correct it? – but a loud string of bangs and rumbles jerk your attention to the building that other group had been investigating collapses into a gigantic pile of concrete and rebar. Dragon-rider-lady, and you really do need to find out her name at some point if that's the best description you can come up with, zips over to them and nearly shrieks, "What are you doing?!"

"Nothing we do is gonna matter after the effect stops, is it?" one man retorts. "If we wanna get these Nazi fucks, might as well blow up everything around 'em and get 'em in the crossfire, you know?"

She sits on her flying fireball for a moment before turning to face you. "Is that how this works?"

Uh…. A quick back-and-forth with Perfect Storm, and you nod. You know where this is going, and while it will definitely be the faster way of doing this, you can't help but imagine what would happen if Recursion Field didn't work the way it does. "It's a little more complicated than that, but he's not wrong."

"Okay." She jabs a button on her wristband and says, "New plan, everybody. Demolish _everything_. Calamity Witch says collateral damage is not a concern so long as her Shaker effect is up."

Lady Photon's wristband and your own both squawk out her message, the radios within just powerful enough to pass the word around to every cape in your dimensional field. Heroes and villains both turn their powers onto the nearby buildings, and in far too short a time, the entire campus has been reduced to rubble. It is a little uncomfortable how destructive capes can be when they really let loose, and just as uncomfortable when you realize much the same could be said about you.

The few seconds of chaos are followed by several minutes of looking through the wreckage for any sign that the Empire capes were there, but despite the parahumans' enthusiasm, it soon becomes clear that they took their aggression out on the wrong target. The fiery caterpillar dragon is reassembled, and you take off for the second site, the one that you know is where you will find your quarry.

City hall.

The squat, unimpressive building comes into view, and immediately streamers of light crash through the walls and detonate. Spheres of distorted space, pools of acid, Cailleach's ice bombs; it takes as little time to ruin this locale as they needed for the university grounds. You move closer to Miss Militia's spot on the dragon and ask, "Is this what it's going to be? Just bomb the whole town until we find what we're looking for?"

The American-themed heroine shrugs. Is her motion as uncertain as you think it looks, or are you just projecting your own concerns onto her? "I won't say it's your fault, but you certainly made it easier. Put people in a situation where there are no consequences, and far too many will embrace their worst desires, even if only for a moment." She looks away. "It is a trap all of us fall into, though we do our best not to succumb to that temptation again."

Several capes drop lower, but their cries of frustration soon reach your ears. What do they mean, the Empire isn't here?! This is where they were supposed to be! With Kaiser's ego, there was no way he would settle for anything less than taking over the seat of government. Not unless he was aiming even higher, if his deluded and Simurgh-addled mind thought he truly was above all other men. It looks like you're headed for the city's cathedral.

The others come to the same conclusion and ready themselves to move out once more. "Arbiter," a Case 53 covered in laser-shooting eyes calls out before you can move more than a dozen yards, "isn't the strip mall between here and the cathedral? We could knock it down while we're going and scratch that off our list."

"It's a little out of the way, but not that much," your group leader agrees after a moment's thought. "It won't delay us too much as long as nobody wastes time. Let's hit it and move on."

Taking a slightly looping course, the strip mall comes into view. Much like the rest of the town, it's nothing impressive— Except for all that! You shoot to one side as the roof shatters under the onslaught of massive steel obelisks that fly like rockets at your group. Not everyone is as quick on their feet as you; one monolith catches the tail of giant dragon and knocks free a couple of capes riding astride, and two more cut through the cluster of heroes that includes the very person who suggested you come this route. You doubt she appreciates the irony.

The roof continues its collapse, revealing rows of ten-foot pillars. No, not pillars. _Blades_. How long did it take Kaiser to make all these?!

The other capes continue their evasive actions as Rune flings more and more of her projectiles at your group, but even now you're rallying. A few flurries of light fly towards the building only to be stopped by a growing shield, and then the twenty-foot Fenja hurls something back that explodes into a living chainsaw. Another cape's quick thinking and momentum-reversing field is the one thing that saves more of your allies from being pureed by the blender that is Hookwolf.

Fenja's increased size makes her a better target, but the oddities of her Breaker state also mean she can weather the blows and better deflect the strikes aimed at the squishier capes at her feet. Or is it the oddities of her Breaker state mixed with the invincibility Othala can grant? That would probably make more sense. Fenja grows, Othala makes it impossible to hurt her, and then she can use her enlarged shield to protect Kaiser and Othala and all the rest. With that pair on defense, Kaiser and Rune can pair off for offense, him providing the blades and her throwing them. Hookwolf can be either another projectile or their final line of defense. It's a clever set up, and it's going to be a pain in the ass to stop now that they have gotten in a rhythm.

There is just one weakness that you can see: Othala, best as you remember, is incapable of granting any of her powers to herself. She is purely a support cape. If anyone could stop her, the Empire's strategy would fail, but Fenja is currently protecting her from all the threats thrown at her from above. You would have to attack her from the side to have any chances of hitting her, but if you tried that, all you would do is draw attention to yourself. Wide Area Search would let you target them, but between Kaiser's blades and Rune's powers and Stormtiger's air bombs and Hookwolf's everything, you can't be sure that any of your shots would hit. Solar Wrath would be easier to aim and impossible to deflect, but it can still be blocked. Not to mention, if you want to remain unseen, you would be blasting through a number of walls plus whatever metal Kaiser conjured to reinforce them. You don't know that it would have the energy to do more than ruffle their hair.

« _Any ideas, Storm?_ » you ask the Device.

Maybe it is because your Device literally runs off telepathy. Maybe it just knows you well enough to guess your thoughts. Either way, it immediately offers a grisly suggestion. « _Mistress's Flare Mana Conversion Affinity converts mana to heat and short-wavelength radiation. With safety measures in place, conversion limited to small amount of heat. Should Mistress cast without restrictions, spells cause lethal burns and radiation poisoning even if physical force nullified._ »

That's not a great set of options, is it? Either you accomplish nothing or you burn everyone alive. This is not like fighting the Beasts, either. At the party, you had already figured out there was something wrong with them. They were more animal than man in your mind even before Miss Militia revealed they were probably the creations of a mad scientist. These are actual people, though. Evil, heartless people, but people nonetheless. Your hands tremble around Perfect Storm's pole. Can you go through with it?

Another swarm of tower-swords shoot into the air but is thankfully dodged by the capes it was aimed at, and it is that that really makes your mind up for you. Kaiser is desperate, and just like a cornered rat, he is going to bite anything that gets too close. It just happens that this rat carries the plague. The rest of the Empire aren't Zizzed – Othala you heard was cleared with your own ears, and Hookwolf and Fenja and the rest came back from Boston, so the same must be true about them – but they will follow Kaiser's lead. By the time they wise up, if they ever do, it will be too late to head off whatever convoluted plot Kaiser is part of. How many innocent people will they hurt before they're stopped, just like they hurt people with impunity back in Brockton Bay? How many will they kill?

How far will you go to keep your hands from being stained with blood if the alternative is for the ground to be soaked with it?

"Okay," you whisper to yourself. Looking at the ground, you note a nearby alleyway with just a single building between it and the strip mall. Nothing comes at you while you cast Spatial Translocation, and then you're at your destination. "Storm? Give me the formula for Solar Wrath."

« _Does Mistress desire lethality restrictions remain active?_ »

You hesitate, once more looking at the gravity of the situation on your shoulders. "No. No, take them off. I need everything you've got."

« _Understood. Lethal restrictions lifted. Begin ignition sequence._ »

Aiming the tip of your staff at the building and the strip mall behind it, you watch the miniaturized sun grow and grow in front of you. When you fired this at Cadejo, you only let it get as big as your head. Part of that was the time crunch involved, but another part was knowing just how big this thing could get from your time in the training simulator while you should have been paying attention in history class. For this, you allow it to grow to its full size, wider than your shoulders and just a little less than half the length of your torso. Even with the protection from heat offered by your Barrier Jacket, you still feel the immensity of the fire contained within. The edges of the sunspots glow like coals; the flares looping back into the corona twist like starving snakes eager to gorge themselves on everything before them.

You raise the staff a little so it is firing at an upwards angle and hopefully won't melt the street quite as much as last time, and then you squeeze the trigger in your mind.

The force of the blast actually slides you backwards a few inches on the asphalt, but that is nothing compared to its brightness and volume. You can't see anything through the cone of flames. You can't hear anything over its furious roar. Your whole world becomes this single prolonged explosion, something Earth was never supposed to hear until the real sun breaks apart at the end of its life and consumes all around it.

The beam of nuclear fire finally dies down, and you blink the spots out of your eyes in time to see a massive spearhead coming your way. Diving to the side and never touching the ground, you shoot skywards to get out of the way as well as see what kind of calamity you have wrought.

In hindsight, you decide as you stare speechlessly at the scene before you, you _might_ have underestimated how much damage that spell could do.

The building you chose to use as cover has a massive swath cut though it, and while Solar Wrath was still ongoing the top of the building collapsed and was likewise destroyed. The buildings _behind_ the strip mall are both gone, as are those behind and to the sides of them. And the store itself? Like everything else the most powerful of your attack spells touched, it is not even rubble. When the spell hit Fenja's invulnerable legs, it did not stop so much as scatter, vaporizing anything it touched and melting what was outside its reach.

There is no sign of the Nazis at her feet. You can't help but wonder if they even had time to feel themselves being set on fire before they simply disintegrated.

The sound rattling in the air pauses for just a moment, and now you realize it is Fenja's scream of grief and hate. She whips out her sword and tries to pull out of the molten muck pooling around her feet, but by setting her focus entirely on you she has opened herself up to the thirty capes you brought with you. Even Othala's boon cannot last under the onslaught, and without warning it fails. Fenja falls a moment later, the myriad of exotic energies suddenly wreaking deadly effect.

Quiet falls over the empty city.

When you move back towards the group, you can't help but notice that everyone scoots away just a little. It is a subconscious reaction, you tell yourself. Never mind that extremely few parahumans are capable the kind of feat you just performed. Never mind that what is left of the buildings looks far too much like something from the few photos that inevitably spread over the internet after Behemoth attacks. It's fine. You're fine.

Arbiter drifts closer and clears his throat. "If you could take us out of this pocket dimension, I expect the Brutes have finished dealing with the other capes and the non-parahuman fighters. Should that not be the case, we know where they are and can finish this quickly."

"Right. Yeah." Taking another look at the aftermath of your attack, you find the threads of Recursion Field and break them.

Color washes back into the city, and activity resumes. The strip mall remains demolished.

Several capes shout in protest, and Arbiter turns to you with a cold glare. "I thought you said the damage we did would not transfer over."

"It doesn't! Look!" You point at the building. "I _melted_ the building. That's collapsed. Whoever did that, it wasn't me."

Movement below catches your eye, and the group as a whole descends to street level. "Brick!" somebody calls out. "You okay down there?!"

The Brutes climb to their feet, some of them moving gingerly and all of them covered in scratches or cuts. For parahumans whose point of pride is their strength and durability, that is not a good sign. "Tell me the others are handled."

"Our selection of targets were eliminated," Arbiter confirms. "What about yours?"

The capes you couldn't keep an eye on carefully do not look at each other, and finally one of them explains, "We were going to check this place out on the way to the college, and then they started shooting and somebody Triggered. Next thing we knew, everybody was on the ground and there were big chunks of concrete flying at us. We broke in, but the only one there was that Victor cape, and he did some crazy kung fu shit to keep us from hitting him before he blew the building up with all of us inside. He's dead, and we're okay, but Cricket and the new cape and all the grunts were gone by the time we dug our way out."

"Why would they even pick here to hide out?" demands someone from deep in the crowd.

Several mutter in agreement, but it is Miss Militia who responds. "There was a gun store here. They probably picked it so the unpowered members would have plenty of ammunition."

The group starts devolving into an argument about whose fault it is that a known Empire cape and someone whose powers no one has a good handle on were able to escape. You, on the other hand, float a short distance away. You have no interest in who did or didn't do what, not when you still feel your skin crawling at what you've already done.

« _Impossible for false Empire to defeat Mistress,_ » Perfect Storm says, trying and failing to cheer you up. « _Mistress heir to might of Galea._ »

You blink and look at the head of your staff. "Galea?"

« _Location of unit construction. Home world of Calamity Witch origin._ »

Origin? Construction? "Storm," you whisper, your mood rising both with the ready distraction and the implications of your Intelligent Device's statement, "do you remember something about your past?"

« _Memory segment repair completed. Majority of files corrupted beyond possibility of recovery. Earliest records stored with highest priority adjacent to template files and restorable. Records include purpose of construction and designation chosen by designers._ »

Its designation. Its _real name_. "Who are you?" you whisper.

« _Unit classification: accelerated training platform. Unit purpose: installation of ability templates into local untrained mages to supplement military forces engaged in conflict with invading Belkan Empire._ » You can almost feel the pride radiating from the crimson gem. « _Initial designation: Immortal Assimilation Engine._ »

Your wristband chooses that moment to begin beeping incessantly, as do everybody else's. What in the world is going on?

Arbiter taps a button on his, and you return to the group to better hear what's going on. Judging by how pale his skin is, it's nothing good. "Say that again, Console."

" _Get back here now! The new Butcher just attacked headquarters!"_

* * *

 **Even the sane(r) members of New Wave are fucked up. Whoever could have guessed that? Lady Photon's opinions are especially ironic considering the recent events in Boston and all the press** _ **that**_ **media circus generated. Hint: Collateral Damage Barbie, a lovestruck healer, smartphones, and unseen bystanders do not a good combination make.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	55. Escapades 5-x

**This was originally planned to be 5.8, but it would have been too much telling as opposed to showing, and I couldn't think of a better interlude, so you get Sam's POV for a while instead.**

* * *

 **Escapades 5.x**

Samantha made a brushing-off motion with one hand and gave her mage a blip of telepathic encouragement. Taylor was a big girl, but there were days like now that getting her to do anything even remotely social was like pulling teeth. Here there was a combat element, which put her mage a little more at ease, but the teenager still looked and acted somewhat shy upon being faced with a crowd of the size as the one that had been gathered for taking on the Empire Eighty-Eight.

She added another item to her mental list of evidence that her creator was mildly agoraphobic.

It was time for her to go where she was needed, too, but she also hesitated, though for completely different reasons. Part of it was the drive to be at her maker's side. That, according to Perfect Storm, was an inherent aspect of being a Guardian Beast; as an organomagical construct literally designed to protect her creator at all costs, it would be more of a surprise had she _not_ had such instincts. Most of the time when they were apart, she could suppress it with the rationalization that her mage would not be in danger. There were no risks when the young woman went to school, for instance, though she would be lying if she said she had not tailed Taylor to Winterrose Academy for the entire week after that ill-fated party and stood guard just to make sure no Beasts attacked. Now, though, her mage was going to be on her own against enemies who wanted her dead, and Samantha would not be there to serve as a keen-edged sword with which to slay all challengers.

Another part was far less intuitive, though not incomprehensible. Perhaps it had to do with the difference in their ages, or perhaps that she had kits of her own when Taylor found her, or perhaps that Taylor had been without a mother for so long, but she sometimes had to stop herself from trying to treat her mage like a child who needed guidance. And other times, she failed at that and wound up mothering her creator whether the teenager liked it or not, though she had been doing better at that, she believed. The first few weeks of her existence had been a series of crash courses in all sorts of ways, and only now was she starting to feel like she had all four feet beneath her.

Taylor was under the impression she watched soap operas because she enjoyed them, and while that was also true, they were an invaluable resource from which to learn how a stepmother-figure should and should not interact with a teenager.

Forcing herself to turn around, she waited a moment before walking over to the ABB group. Taylor would be fine. She had Perfect Storm with her, and she knew a number of useful and powerful spells, and the other heroes alongside her would protect her unless they wanted Samantha to slice open their bellies and strangle them with their own intestines and paint the whole _Empress-damned city_ _ **red**_ _with their lifeblood_ —

"Samantha. Are you ready for this?"

Oh. She was already here.

Blinking away her momentary confusion, she took in the highly decorated group before her. Legend and Chevalier stood to one side, their whispered conversation not a friendly one by their expressions. Myrddin stood beside Nightingale, a short-range teleporter from Chicago who carried an overstuffed first aid kit on her back. The entire Haven group seemed to be here to help in the fight against the Fallen, their seven combat members huddled around Benediction, the group's healer. A very tall and very naked woman who could only be Narwhal, whose imposing height was still dwarfed by the blue-skinned leader of Philadelphia's Winter Hill gang, Jotunn. Armsmaster, formerly from Brockton Bay, next to a female knight who would look imposing were it not for the black felt ears glued to the sides of her helmet. Multiple copies of Satyrical, head of the Las Vegas Protectorate branch. And many more.

Not every Protectorate team leader, but most of them, along with their strongest subordinates and their numbers further bolstered by a variety of powerful villains.

Samantha turned her attention back to the black-caped woman in front of her and tipped her fedora at the world-famous heroine. "I'm already here, Alexandria. Whether I'm ready or not is a moot point, wouldn't you say?"

"You could always back out. No one would fault you."

"I would fault me. Calamity Witch would fault me. That is enough."

Alexandria gave her a nod and began the short trek back to the rest of the group. "I am somewhat surprised I do not see her with you," the Los Angeles leader said nonchalantly. "From what little you said about her abilities yesterday, it sounded like she would be a boon to our task."

She shot the other heroine a surprised glance; she had not thought she said _that_ much about Taylor's abilities. Just a couple of offhand comments about how handy having a powerful artillery fighter would have been, really. Or had Taylor's brief conversation with Alexandria the last time they were all in Brockton Bay impressed the older woman more than they believed? "I offered her the chance," she replied after a moment's pause, "but she felt hunting for Nazis was where her strengths would be best leveraged."

A small shrug was her only answer, Alexandria's idle curiosity assuaged. Ahead of them, Legend rose into the air. "This is not the time for speeches," he said, cutting off the numerous side conversations, "so I will be brief. According to those on watch last night, the Teeth and the Fallen left the area some time around midnight and have yet to return. That means we have the advantage. The Fallen are not insurmountable. The Teeth are not insurmountable. Even Lung is not insurmountable. Not so long as we can keep all our enemies in front of us.

"To that end, we are splitting up into two groups. Most of you will stay here with me to fight off the Teeth and Fallen when they return." He waved to one side with his right hand, and with the other he pointed at the gaping hole in the wall from which Lung had escaped and where he slunk back when he realized he could not win the fight yesterday. "Those who think you can hurt Lung? You will follow Alexandria into the city, where you will hunt down that overgrown gecko. After a long discussion with Chief Director Costa-Brown last night, it was determined that Lung is too dangerous to be left free to wander. He was already bound for the Birdcage upon his capture. He now bears a Kill Order."

The assembled parahumans muttered amongst themselves at that revelation. Samantha had done a little research on capes and their customs shortly after her creation, and one of the tidbits she had found was that Kill Orders were not something handed down lightly or often. Only the most powerful villains were deemed worthy of them, and by the time they reached the tier of infamy and strength required to receive what was in truth a federal warrant of execution, any fight to the death was all but guaranteed to have immense collateral damage. For the vast majority of capes, even the strongest ones, pushing them that far into a corner was considered more dangerous than backing off and trying to capture them another day.

She wondered which poor judge had been woken up in the middle of the night to get _that_ signed off. That he had gone along with it was even more telling.

"That should give you some idea of just how dangerous a fight you will be getting into should you choose to face him directly," continued Legend. "S-class events are never a time for bravado or arrogance, but this will be even worse. If you have any doubts whatsoever about your ability to survive such a battle, do _not_ volunteer to go. Your talents would be equally useful here on this front."

Alexandria turned to her and tilted her head almost tauntingly, to which Samantha gave a vicious smile. Her Inherent Forcefield thrummed along and through her skin, ready to take any hit anyone wanted to dish out.

"That is all. Lung team, good luck."

The flying brick of the Triumvirate took to the sky and began calling for anyone dumb enough to volunteer to follow her, though she used slightly different wording. The raccoon moved to be said idiot when a voice called her name. She looked behind her to see a young man running towards her. Well, sort of. 'Man' did not exactly capture the cape's appearance as a somewhat lopsided mass of bony plates and exposed musculature, nor did 'running' do his loping justice. He was young, though, or at least his voice was. She had met him yesterday, a Case 53 whose thick bones he could grow and then cut and shape with far greater ease than a blacksmith could steel.

…What was his name again?

The cape slid to a halt, panting breaths quickly covered up. "Just… wanted to give you something." Reaching behind him, he pulled off a length of bone that had been forged with far greater care and detail than the slabs of bone he had thrown around the battlefield to be used as shields and impromptu swords. This was perfectly straight and cylindrical, the pointed end also carrying a couple of spurs and pressed flat. She gave it another look and nodded to herself. Yes, it looked almost like whaling harpoon. "You said you were going after Lung right? I thought you could use this to do a little more damage to him than you could with your fists. Not that you weren't doing great on your own!" he added hastily. "But maybe this would work with your powers?"

Taking the weapon from him, she gave it a couple of twirls and jabs. Each motion pulled knowledge she didn't know she had from the back of her mind, and when she came to a halt, she felt like she had been practicing with a spear for years instead of seconds. So _that_ was what Perfect Storm had meant by 'innate mastery'.

A moment's thought was all it took before she reached for the dark hunger lurking inside her. She had heard Taylor and Perfect Storm discussing the hows and whys of magic, but the way they did it, with calculations and programming and such? That was not at all how she cast her spells. Her magic was tied to a deeply buried rage, a feral aspect of herself that she did her best not to push too far. Not that all her magic pulled on it an equal amount; flight, Wide Area Search, Recursion Field – all spells she learned from Taylor – barely stirred it, but her own personal powers? Those got her dark side's attention. She knew if she prodded it enough, it could all too easily go on a violent killing spree, stopping only once everything in front of her was dead or she was. She never wanted that to happen, and it was only with the bone-deep knowledge that even at her worst she could not imagine turning tooth or claw on Taylor that she used magic at all around her mage.

A quicksilver sheen covered her hands and flowed onto the spear, and she wore a predatory grin when a spin left behind a glimmering echo. Cutting off the spell, she purred, "Yes, this is exactly what I was missing."

He stuttered something out, but she had already given him a grateful hug and was chasing after the rest of the strike team. Only a half-dozen or so were there, though it was hard to get an exact count with three times that many Satyricals running around. Alexandria shot her a glance but went back to scanning the area, and Samantha slipped among the quiet buildings like the raccoon she used to be.

The team moved with cautious haste. They were in for a fight and knew it, and they would rather that fight happen deeper in the ruins where they could keep Lung isolated from everyone and everything else. They also did not want to rush in and let an angry dragon get the drop on them. That was just another way to spell 'elaborate suicide'.

Maybe twenty minutes into the search, Alexandria's wristband squawked. " _How are things going in there?"_

"No contact yet," she answered. "You?"

" _Not as bad as we feared,"_ said Legend. " _Someone managed to kill Animos early on, so that complication was nipped in the— Oh,_ _ **fuck**_ _."_

She stared at the wristband, confusion writ large across her face. "Legend?"

" _Get back here. Now! Lung's_ _ **here**_ _!"_

The rest of the group fell behind, even the couple of other fliers unable to keep up with her and Alexandria as they blasted through the ruins and back to the battlefield. What met her was chaos, three groups previously organized against the others now struggling to adapt to the sudden presence of a massive dragon. And he truly was massive. Nearly fifteen feet of metallic scales, foot-long talons, bony spikes jutting from his shoulder blades almost as a warning of the wings they could become. Blows and blades and blasts of light slid off him, and the serpentine cape shook for a second before exploding into a wide wave of flame. Too many capes were cooked in an instant from the surprise attack, and more would have fallen were it not for Jotunn weathering the fire while another cape siphoned it up into their blazing armor.

Alexandria hit the dragon like a five-foot-eight wrecking ball while Samantha took a moment to find Legend. "What happened?!" she demanded once she was at his side.

"I have no idea! One second several capes were fighting the Teeth, and the next second one of them bursts into flame and turns into that!"

That made no sense. Lung's powers were famous in Brockton Bay, but so were his limits. He never stopped growing stronger, but he had to ramp up to that. He couldn't just go from normal to a giant beast, not unless he had been hiding some aspect of his power for years. And yet, somehow he had done just that. Steeling her nerves, Samantha let her powers play along the length of the spear and jumped into the fight herself. The edge of the blade was sharp, but against Lung's scales she might have been hitting him with a baseball bat.

That was fine. For her purposes, a blunt weapon was just as good as a sharp one.

The spear twirled in her hands, and with each pass she tapped the monster's scales. Shredding Claw, despite its name, was not a straightforward attack meant to rend and tear. It was an adder's bite, a poison that ate away at her enemy's defenses. A light touch was all it took, and the more she touched, the weaker he would get until he stared down in confusion at how her hand had sunk so deep in his invulnerable chest.

Except Lung apparently did not know how this was supposed to go. There was a faint effect, his foe's attacks doing just a tiny bit more than they had before, and then he was growing again. Definitely more than fifteen feet in length now, and the rest of his half-formed wings ripped themselves out of his back while liquid muscle and membrane leaked out of innumerable cracks and wrapped itself around the bones. He would be flight-worthy in just a few minutes, less if he could pull off this sudden growth trick a couple more times.

A figure wearing blood-red armor and with a string of all-too-realistic skulls hanging from one shoulder teleported to them in a flash of fire and noise and slammed a stone axe into Lung's side.

The dragon screamed, his pain and rage speeding up his growth, but that did not matter. Alexandria might have backed off at the newcomer's sudden appearance, but Samantha was not going to let this opportunity go to waste. She moved faster, her shape blurring to anyone watching as she boosted her speed as far as she could go without getting lost in her own cruel fury. She danced around Lung's lunges, dodged blows that could have ripped her head off even with Inherent Forcefield, and jabbed her spear again and again against the beast's armor. Her impromptu ally took advantage of her power's effect, each blow of the enormous axe reaching flesh before the hole inevitably refilled.

Twisting around a strike at his face, Lung let the other woman's weapon dig deep into his neck before he pounced on her. A hand grabbed her mask and slammed her into the ground, and then his short snout, quadruple-jawed like no creature on Earth, opened wide. For a second Samantha thought he would bite the other cape, but instead he vomited up a torrent of flame that wrapped around them and hid his head and her entire body.

Samantha thwacked his right-hand wing joint, but then he exploded once more into flame. The fires did not discomfort her in the slightest, but the unexpected blow across her back from his wild writhing flicked her off. She hit the ground and carved a trench ten feet long before finally stopping. Laying there for a moment was nice, especially with her body aching in a crumbly way that she instinctively knew meant her Inherent Forcefield had taken too much punishment for her peace of mind. Only when a gloved hand came into view did she reach up and let Myrddin pull her to her feet.

The battleground had gone strangely still, the only motion Lung still looping around on himself and— Was he trying to scratch himself to death? "What did that woman do to him?" she asked.

The wizard-themed cape – or maybe a mage in truth, though his staff was entirely too wooden – shot her a startled glance. "You do know who that was, don't you?"

She shook her head.

"That was the Butcher. And Lung just killed her."

…Oh.

Lung lashed out at nothing, finally giving everyone a chance to see his new look. The stubby tail he previously had was now nearly the length of his body, which had rapidly reached a good twenty-five feet. Two rows of spines raced down his spine, their sharp points glinting wickedly. Three more sets of spines poked out from his cheeks and chins in a caricature of the wise old Chinese man stereotype. His armored body was wreathed in the fires of hell. And _still_ he was growing! How was he managing that nonsense?!

"Oh, dear," Myrrdin muttered. "I hope the other Butchers in his head don't count as opponents where his power is concerned. That would be bad."

The terrifying dragon belched out another wave of fire before taking to the air. His roar could likely be heard for miles off, and he swerved in midair as though unable to figure out where he should go before his gaze locked onto something in the distance. A quick glance was all Samantha needed to see figure out his plan.

With a lusty war-cry, Lung beat his wings and flew much too quickly towards the National Guard's base of operations. A black missile slammed into his belly, Alexandria trying desperately to throw him off course, but the huge beast vanished only to reappear with the same explosion the former Butcher had used, now halfway to his destination. Every flying cape jumped into the air, and Samantha nearly joined them, but she knew that would not be enough. _Danny_ was in that building, him and the other support and coordination capes, and while she would not mind the harlots making eyes at her mage's father succumbing to Lung's fires, she would not risk his life for petty revenge.

Taylor would break into a million pieces if anything happened to her father, and damn it, Samantha had plans for him, too!

The orange light of the mana she and Taylor shared came into existence around her, and she envisioned the entryway of the base. Two or three seconds, that was all their teleportation required, but with an unstoppable dragon attacking, those scant seconds were an eternity. Finally, _finally_ the curtain rose, wiping away the world around her and replacing it with the interior of headquarters. "Captain!" she yelled out, running for where she thought he would be. "Captain! We need to go!"

Danny looked up at her, confusion plain on his face. "What are you talking—"

"Lung's on his—"

The roof tore open to give everyone a good look at the face of Death, and she _moved_. In an instant she had her hands around Danny's arm and she yanked, whipping him around so he was no longer in the line of fire. A massive paw slammed into her back, talons just managing to punch through her much-abused Inherent Forcefield and drawing long lines of blood, but she forcibly lifted her mage's father and flew. Screams echoes around her, Thinkers being burned to cinders, but the thought of helping them never even crossed her mind.

She would probably feel guilty about that later. Maybe. If forced to choose between Danny and any of the other capes here, she'd choose him. He was too important to Taylor and her both to risk.

The far wall shattered at her strike, and she carried him out of the killing zone.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Samantha!" She looked up to find Taylor skimming the ground, and her mage slammed into her with all the force a desperate teenager could muster. "Are you okay? Where's Dad? Is he…?"

"He's fine. I'm fine. We're all fine." Taylor nodded, ignorant of the fact that she could have outed her connection to Danny. Not that anyone was paying attention to them; other teams were having their own reunions, and all those not checking on teammates' health were carefully ignoring the personal conversations going on all around.

"I got here as fast as I could once I heard the news. What happened?"

She shrugged helplessly. "We got cocky and underestimated Lung, and he bit us for it. Things were going bad enough before the Butcher jumped in, but then he just kept on growing. Once he was stronger than the Butcher could withstand, that was it. I don't know if he got tired of attacking the base or what, but he left on his own after a couple of minutes and flew north. I think Dragon's tracking him, but everyone else let him go without a fight. Not like we could have done much to him, anyway, not as big as he was."

Taylor turned to take in the burnt-out shell of the National Guards base. "How many survived?" she finally asked.

"Very few. I teleported in once I realized where he was going," she said when she saw her mage's nervous gulp, "but I didn't have enough time to get anyone besides Captain before he tore his way inside. It was get him and me to safety or try to save everyone and risk saving no one. I chose the sure thing."

She half-expected Taylor to try to chastise her, her charge's idealism as strong as it was. Instead, Taylor flung herself into Samantha's embrace. "Thank you," she whispered. "If you and Dad had died in there… I don't know what I would have done."

Wrapping her arms around Taylor's shoulders, she let the girl shiver in realization of how bad things could have been. It was heart-warming to hear just how much she meant to her mage, but Taylor did not have to worry. She had no plans of leaving her family.

Not for a long, long time.

* * *

 **I do apologize if there's some confusion; the players have access to Samantha's character sheet and know all of her powers, but you don't, so if you don't understand what stuff is, that's why. The only one I am almost certain might cause some confusion is Inherent Forcefield, which is basically just a Guardian Beast's version of a Barrier Jacket.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	56. Maskless 6-1

**Jack Inqu:** Lung ramps up in a fight, but as his interlude showed us, he also ramps up with _anticipation_ of a fight. That's what he spent the previous night doing, which let him change very abruptly. It didn't help that Sam's attacks kept weakening his defenses, so his growth never slowed down like it normally does. Very bad power interaction!

 **Um the Muse:** The bone guy is an OC so I could justify giving Sam a weapon. Despite my hints, the players never realized she would be more capable with something in her hands than without.

* * *

 **Maskless 6.1**

 **Monday, April 11  
** Kurt and Lacey glance over from the kitchen when your little group materializes out of orange light. "How'd it go?" he asks, half his attention still on whatever he has on the stove. "Rounded up all the villains and got them back in their cages?"

You flop face-first onto the sofa with a grunt, your Barrier Jacket disintegrating around you.

"…That good, huh?"

"Most of the Empire's dead, Purity and Crusader defected, the small-time villains got away, and Lung killed the Butcher," your dad sums up succinctly in a bland voice.

"That's not too— Lung what now?"

"Hooooly shit," whispered Lacey. "We might need to call the guys who stayed in Boston and let them know to get out of town."

Your dad's voice starts moving away, though you are momentarily distracted by a weight jumping onto the back your head and starting to purr. "—but I don't think they need to move just yet. They lost track of him after he crossed the Canadian border. If he wants to hang out in the Guild's backyard, I say let him. Either they take him down like they do other S-classes or he's too much for regular capes to handle, anyway."

« _Maybe too much for mages to handle, too,_ » Samantha projects to you. « _Unless you have more tricks hidden up your sleeves, Storm?_ »

« _Component 'sleeves' not in blueprints._ » You mentally blink in surprise. Where the hell did Perfect Storm learn _sass_ of all things? « _Increased aptitude for injury and destruction possible. Mistress's Linker Core sufficient in size for partial installation of second template. Recommend installation of Extinction Knight. Will reconfigure active form following._ »

« _What is it with you and your designers and melodramatic names?_ » you can't help but wonder. « _Calamity Witch? Extinction Knight? Immortal Assimilation Engine?_ »

« _Calamity Witch template named for identifier of mage whose genes and memories used as basis. Imperial edict from the Dark Queen herself in honor of military service and sacrifice._ »

Okay, so it's a cultural thing. It explains Perfect Storm's original suggestion that you name it Skyborne Vengeance, at least.

"—Taylor?"

"Huh?" You raise your head, Samantha grumbling when the movement causes her to roll down your back, only to find the three adults watching you. "Sorry, I wasn't listening. What did you say?"

Your dad sighs. "There are some people in New York City who called an old acquaintance about setting up a meeting. You're okay with being by yourself for the weekend, right?"

"Or I could go with you," you point out. It's true that you haven't had much in the way of father-daughter bonding time, and that is something you want to change. This sudden impulse definitely has nothing to do with the fact that you almost lost him just a couple of hours ago. "It's not like we've had anything resembling a vacation in a long while."

He nods slowly. "That's true, but I don't know how much time we would have for sight-seeing. It will just be hours of meetings. I don't think they'd appreciate a teenager hanging around, either. Sorry," he adds with a weak shrug.

You roll your eyes and drop your head back into the cushions. "Fine. Whatever."

They shift their voices to whispers, but you have already started ignoring them. Yes, your relationship with your father is miles away better than it was, but considering you used to be practically strangers living in the same house, it didn't really take much to improve it. You are as guilty as he is that the rapport between you is stalling out, but at least you're trying to fix it. Or is this karmic retribution of some kind? You kept secrets and pushed him away for so long that now that you want to make things better, you get to be on the receiving end for a change.

The conversation changes to something else, something they do not treat nearly as covert, and another couple of minutes pass before you force yourself to your feet. It's been a long, long day, and you need a shower. Not just to wash the grime off your body, but also to scrub away as best you can the knowledge that only a few hours ago you ended five lives. It was the best course of action in that whole bad situation, you know that, but objective truth doesn't keep you from feeling filthy inside.

You peel your shirt off before you see it. A two foot high statue of a woman stands on your desk, her dark body bent backwards and to the side to twist in a gentle upwards spiral. Behind her, a bird's wings flare outwards as though she were caught in mid-flight. For all the subject's total nakedness, this doesn't look erotic or perverted. It just looks _old_ , like a replica of something from ancient Greece or Rome. You step closer, the shorter distance letting you make out the hooked talons on the woman's fingertips and the expression of murderous rage on her face. Exquisite detail for something carved out of black marble, but not quite your tastes.

Samantha melts back into her human form. "What's that underneath?"

Carefully shifting the statue around – because your tastes or not, it is clearly as expensive as it is heavy – you pull out a yellow-tinged card. "Parchment?" you ask with a laugh. "Are we in a Harry Potter novel or some… thing…."

"Taylor?" she asks. When you do not respond, she looks at the card and growls.

 _We look forward to  
_ _meeting you in person,  
_ _Calamity Witch._

* * *

 **At this point we have caught up to the same arc the players are doing, so in maybe a week I will no longer be putting out daily chapters but going to a weekly format. When I said I had a backlog, I wasn't joking!**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	57. Maskless 6-2

**Maskless 6.2**

 **Tuesday, April 12  
** Walking through Philadelphia Protectorate Headquarters is a very different experience from your two trips to Brockton Bay's own Rig. Part of that is the layout. The Rig was, well, a repurposed oil rig, decked out in Tinkertech and cloaked with a protective forcefield. It stood out in the middle of the bay, all glimmering lights to give some small measure of hope to the people who lived and worked in a gang-ridden hellhole. The PRT had an office, too, but it was downtown in a building on a hill, again standing apart and drawing attention by that fact. In Philly, the two groups share a cluster of office compounds, obvious if you looked but something that could easily be missed. They can afford it, you suppose. For all that there are gangs in the City of Brotherly Love, the same doubts about the Protectorate's effectiveness do not have as much room to grow.

Part of it is the circumstances. When you visited the Rig, you were only allowed a short way in before you were diverted to a neutral meeting room. Your previous trip to these offices to hear the results of your MRI was similar to that in some ways, but that meeting had more of a doctor's office feel to it than anything else, so you don't know that it really counts. Here and now, you're being led to meet with the head of the branch, but your escort doesn't seem to be there to stop you from going somewhere you're not meant to be so much as to make sure you don't get lost and so be late. From a couple of comments he dropped earlier, it sounds like Miss Militia has said nothing but good things about you to the rest of the PRT. Now you really do feel bad about how that chat about the Beasts went.

But part of the difference, more than the location itself or the reason you're there, is the looks you're getting. Velocity mistook you for a villain, as did the door guards back home. The distrust faded, but that was all it was. The eyes watching you walk down the hall aren't filled with suspicion. They're shadowed with _fear_. Not completely, not like they think you're going to go Carrie on everybody, but too many hands are straying towards guns by reflex for your peace of mind.

Why? What did you do?

The trooper leads you to a door, and stepping inside, you are met by a nondescript blonde woman who looks at you and Samantha with a plastic smile. "Go right inside," she says in what is clearly a practiced greeting voice. "Chevalier is waiting for you."

« _I'm starting to get a little creeped out,_ » you admit to your Guardian Beast.

« _It's taken you this long to realize something's wrong? That's almost impressive in all the worst ways._ »

"Calamity Witch, Samantha," Chevalier greets you, rising from his chair to shake your hands. He is acting normal, much to your relief. "Welcome to Protectorate Headquarters. Please, sit. Not that I'm not happy to meet you in a more peaceful setting," he says with a deprecating at the reference to the battle at the party, "but what brings you here? Your message this morning sounded rather urgent."

"I don't know that 'urgent' is the right word, but it's definitely something I need to deal with sooner or later."

At your nod, Samantha sets the statue on the desk. Chevalier blinks at it. Was this not the kind of thing he expected you to bring up? "Very nice. Not my style, but nice. I'm afraid I don't see the issue."

"It was delivered along with this." You hand the note over and let him read through it, continuing only when he looks back up at you. "I found these in my house. More accurately, in my _bedroom_. I shouldn't have to explain why this is a problem."

 _There_ is the look of abject fury you expected. Vista and Kid Win explained the Unwritten Rules to you that time you went on patrol with them, and while you still have issues with how they let villains run free, now that it is your identity that has been violated, you can understand their necessity a little better. Rage burns within you, just waiting for the right target.

After a moment, he shakes his head. "I will get to the bottom of this, Calamity Witch, of that you have my word. It may take some time, though. For anyone to target the two of you in your civilian identities, they are either out of their minds or they have taken steps to protect themselves."

You and Samantha glance in surprise at each other. It isn't what he's saying that is so strange, but how he is saying it. "You make it sound like we should be safer than other capes," Samantha slowly asks. "Why?"

Chevalier stares at her as though she had just asked why people said the sky was blue, and then he turns to look at you. "I suppose you haven't heard how other capes, other _people_ , see you after the debacle at Brockton Bay, have you? Samantha, you fought a fully grown Lung alongside first Alexandria and then the _Butcher_ , and where the Butcher died, you lived. I know there is more to it than that – I was there, too – but that is what people are talking about. Calamity Witch, word was already getting around after you convinced Purity to defect, and then the capes who fought the Empire with you started talking. You were previously classified as a Blaster 6. That attack you threw out was easily enough for an eight all on its own, and combined with all the abilities that earned you your previous rating? The only reason you aren't classified as a Blaster 9 is that we tend to be little more cautious with the nines when dealing with ranged attackers, particularly our allies." He gives you a tight smile. "Nearly any threat rating of a nine technically calls for inter-city ballistic missiles to take down, but the only time that protocol has actually been used was for a Shaker 9 in Iowa. It doesn't help that between the speed of your flight, your teleportation, and that pocket dimension of yours, we had no choice but to mark both of you down as Mover 10s. That much firepower combined with the ability to go anywhere? It can make people nervous."

Oh. You bite your lip and glance away. You suppose that explains the looks you were getting on your way here. Even knowing you are on their side, the PRT agents are still trained to respond to _threats_.

"I'm sorry I have to be the one to break that news to you," he continues, and he really does sound regretful, "but I thought you ought to know. That is why someone taunting you with your secret identity is so surprising. Perhaps they were not aware of all this, but that will make them all the more careful to hide their tracks."

"Which is why you can't promise immediate results," Samantha says in a voice of resignation.

"Unfortunately, that is true." Sighing, he waves at the statue. "Would you like us to take care of that for you? We could examine it for any evidence that might lead to the person who broke into your home, and there may be recording or tracking device. This would be the best place to keep if such is the case."

You shake your head. Having Perfect Storm scan it was the very first thing you did once you got over the shock of it being on your desk at all, and there was nothing of the sort. It was just a marble statue. "We've already looked. It was cleaned before they left. It's not my style either," you tell him with a weak grin, "but I may as well get something out of all this, right?"

"I suppose that's true. If you change your mind, my door is always open, as I'm sure Miss Militia's is, too." He sends you a serious expression. "We'll find out who this is, Calamity Witch. You have my word on that."

* * *

 **And just think, the Protectorate is panicking about Taylor's version of Divine Buster. They haven't even seen her Starlight Buster!**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	58. Maskless 6-3

**Maskless 6.3**

 **Thursday, April 14  
** Dad pulls the truck up to the small office building that serves as the Privateers' headquarters and puts it in park. "Have to admit," he says in a tone that is far too light for your tastes, "I'm a little bit surprised that you would want to hang out with us."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He gives you a wary smile at your own bland voice. "Nothing, nothing. It's just, you haven't really acted like one of us. Not that I have a problem with that!" he hastily adds, though not quickly enough for you not to get ideas. "Samantha's filled me on some of the things you've been up to. I'd prefer it if you didn't get into fights, particularly with the local version of Lung, but from what she tells me, you've had a lot of other things taking up your time. And that's good. From a purely tactical view, you and Samantha would be a lot of help, but…"

You finish for him, "But you'd like it more if it didn't come in the form of your daughter?" He nods, and you sigh before pushing down your scowl. At least he's being honest with you about it. And yes, he has a point. Maybe. Just a little one. You really _haven't_ acted like a member of the team, even though you were the one who first told the Protectorate about them and got the forms for you and him to be affiliated heroes and—

Stop. Take a breath. Out. He's just worried about you, nothing to get upset about and a good sight better than your relationship used to be. "I guess you can look on the bright side then, Dad. While I have remembered that I have certain obligations to the team I am technically an important member of"—okay, maybe that was a little sharper than you meant it to come out—"I can stay out of the day-to-day stuff if that's what you want." Climbing out of the truck, you turn back and give him a smile. "Then again, since you haven't included me in the _not_ day-to-day stuff, either…"

"Taylor…" You walk away towards the door. "Come on, Taylor! I'm sorry about that, but I was just looking out for you—"

You tune him out. Understanding the reasons for his silence does little to dull the sting of hearing that your father doesn't want you around, even if he probably didn't mean it quite like that.

« _Storm,_ » you project, as much to distract yourself from your thoughts as to double-check the plan, « _just so I know what I'm going to say to them, you're sure you can still scan people for Linker Cores and implant a template into them like you did to me? You said you could do it a while ago, but since you also told me I can't give you to them so you can do that, I'm a little unclear on the details._ »

« _Once potential mage located, Device will be constructed that contains ability set of specified template. Template then installed by Device into mage._ »

You sure hope you won't need to be the one building this Device; you can still vividly recall the disasters that were your elementary school arts and crafts projects. Winslow's own art class focused mostly on drawing and painting than any kind of sculpting, and Mrs. Pritchard tended to grade on effort rather than any actual _skill_.

"Taylor! Nice to see you, sweetie," Lacey says when she spots you walking in. It's not terribly surprising to see her here; most of the older ex-dockworkers were married, and some of those who stayed on with the Privateers after leaving Brockton Bay told their wives the details about what their new job entailed. "What brings you here to our neck of the woods?"

"I wanted to talk to some people and maybe make an offer. Is anyone missing?"

"Not that I can think of. What's all this about?"

"Come along and find out," you shoot back with a smile. Changing into your Barrier Jacket, you raise your Intelligent Device and tell it to start ringing loudly. "Hey, everybody! Can I have your attention?!"

The Privateers, drawn by your call, trickle into to large room that serves as the primary meeting place. Alexander gives you a friendly wave as he enters. "Hey, Calamity Witch. Danny, what's up?"

"No idea," your dad replies. He flaps a hand at you. "This is all her show. I'm as much in the dark as the rest of you."

It's a good thing you have already explained most of this to someone. Your conversation with Dragon several weeks ago gave you a good base to build this sales pitch off of. "First, I'm going to start with a bit of a confession. I have powers. You've all seen them. The thing is, I am technically _not_ a parahuman. I found Perfect Storm"—you lift up the staff—"in an alleyway, and it explained to me that I was able to use it because I have a natural ability to harness and control a fundamental energy, one that people don't have much if any experience with. Storm calls this ability _'magic'_ , and the programs that can be executed using this energy _'spells'_." You wait for the chuckles to die down before you continue, "Since I don't have better words to describe them, that's what I use, too. Here's the good part. Because it is not a parahuman ability, I'm not the only person who can do this. There is likely a substantial number of people who could do the same thing I can if only they learned how. That's why I'm here today. Storm says it can scan all of you to find out who, if anyone, has this ability, and from there, we can teach you how to use this energy to help out even more than your already are."

Alexander raises his hand. "Not to rain on your parade, but how do we know this will even work? Or that it's safe?"

"Don't be such a worrywart," Lacey replies in your stead. "I've known Taylor basically all her life. She's not the kind of person to promise something if she can't provide, and she's too much like Danny to do it unless she thinks she can help."

The burly woman's support warms your heart even as the words themselves make you nervous. "I have not done this before on a person, but it's just a scan. It won't hurt or leave any kind of damage."

"If you're that scared, she can scan me first," your dad says with a roll of his eyes. Stepping closer, he spreads his arms wide. "Hit me with your best shot."

Great. You better not be wrong about this, or you might be irradiating your father. No pressure. Holding Perfect Storm aloft, you order it, "Begin scan."

A holographic screen pops up beside you, and then lines of light sweep side to side and up and down across his chest. The screen shows his clothed torso, then without shirt and skin. Muscles vanish. Organs blink out of existence. Bones disappear. All that is left is an inverted-tree-thing, and then even that fades away. _"Scan complete,"_ Perfect Storm says out loud for everyone's benefit. _"No Linker Core detected."_

That is honestly a surprise. You had hoped that Perfect Storm would not find a Linker Core in your father if only because, based on your MRI results, you suspect that giving him a Device would destroy the parahuman parts of his brain and take away his powers. That said, you still expected him to have one if only because you do. Is magic not genetic? That wouldn't make any sense. « _Storm, do you think I got my magic genes from Mom, instead?_ »

« _Genetic source of Mistress's power obvious without scanning. Magical traits always inherited through maternal lineage._ »

The Privateers are just as surprised at your father's results as you are, but several of them step up for their own scans. It takes until halfway down the line before the screen reveals a small glint of blue after subtracting everything else. _"Linker Core detected. Estimated rank: D."_

"Me?" Tim says in surprise. You sympathize with him on that score. Before finding Perfect Storm, you would not have thought yourself powerful or bold or special; you were just gangly, lonely Taylor Hebert. The scrawny accountant is just as unlikely a hero as you were. In that light, it's almost appropriate that he be the one who has the power to shape the world.

"Looks like it." Giving him a smile and a wink, you add, "Mild-mannered reporter, mild-mannered accountant. What's the difference, right?"

The discovery of Tim's Linker Core is soon followed by Lacey's own C-rank Core, whatever those labels mean, and Kurt takes no time at all to start cracking jokes. "Always knew she was a black magic woman," he says, deftly ignoring his wife's flat look. "Had me under her spell the moment I saw her."

"Oh, is _that_ why you dated my best friend for two years before you even looked my way?"

You ignore the ensuing back and forth and continue with the rest of your task. Sadly, that's all of the Privateers, and unless a couple of the wives have Linker Cores, that's all you're likely to find. Still better than you expected. "Okay, looks like that's that. Storm, how long will it take to install those templates into Tim and Lacey?"

" _Three days to build installation-capable Device. There is a complication."_ You sigh. Of course there is. _"Construction of both sets cannot be completed in timeframe desired. Earth Bet low-magic world. Non-essential hardware will be converted into raw materials for single Device."_

"You'd need to break yourself down for spare parts?" you whisper in distress. "Why didn't you tell me that before?! We'll just need to find some other way to give them magic."

" _Using magic without Device assistance possible but inefficient. Harvesting process will not cause permanent damage. Self-repair systems will restore missing components, but based on amount of material required for Device, estimate six weeks before construction of second Device can begin."_

That's… better, but it's still not great. You look back at your candidates, both of whom were unashamedly listening in to your hushed conversation. Two people who can use magic, but you can only pick one for now. Who will it be?

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	59. Maskless 6-4

**Cormin12:** Divine Buster and Starlight Breaker are spells right out of MGLN and are Nanoha's two best-known attacks. There is a full and up-to-date character sheet on both forums. Taylor is now, thanks to Perfect Storm's genetic manipulation shenanigans, the proud owner of a Linker Core that would make an S-rank mage proud.

* * *

 **Maskless 6.4**

Lacey clearly sees the indecision on your face and gives you a way out. "Do you think you could explain this a little more? I mean, you're talking about _installing_ something into us like we're computers one second, but then you're talking about magic the next. Have to admit, I'm a little lost."

Oh, good. Something you can actually answer. Just where in the world are you going to start? "Sure, sure. Um, okay. When Storm and I talk about a template, we're talking about a set of magical skills and spells that… sort of come naturally to you. They probably wouldn't normally, but in my case, Storm basically took all the skills that a previous witch used in her life, wrapped them up, and stuck them in the back of my head. Whenever I 'learn' a spell, it comes far more easily than it normally would, and it feels a little like I'm remembering how to do it instead of starting from the beginning."

The assembled Privateers glance at you uneasily, and your dad especially looks shocked. Alex clears his throat. "So you're saying that you have somebody else in your head? Like feeling like you lived another life before or something?"

Your hair whips around from how quickly you shake your head. "No, no, no. Nothing like that. I've had Perfect Storm for a few months already, and the closest I've gotten to that is two or three weird dreams that might have been snippets of the first Calamity Witch's memories. Maybe not even that; they may just be normal dreams that I'm putting Devices and spells in. I can't exactly compare it to anything. It isn't like Storm has TV specials about the templates it can play for me."

"And we'd have a choice in what we'd get if we agreed to it?" Tim prompts.

"Of course. There are only four templates to choose from, admittedly, but you would get to pick from them. The one I picked is Calamity Witch, which is all about hanging back and throwing fireballs around. Extinction Knight is, well, pretty much a knight in shining armor." Perfect Storm buzzes angrily at that comparison, and you give the crimson sphere at the head of the staff a quick pat. For all that it recommended you pick up skills from that template, that's also the template it likes the least. Or maybe it was just who they came from; Perfect Storm rambled a bit about somebody named 'Belka' for a while when you asked. "Sword and armor and smacking people in the face with them. Infinite Enhancement isn't a fighter like the other two. It takes more of a healer and supporter role. Kind of like Othala was for the Empire," you add with a grimace. "Transcendent Gadgeteer, on the other hand, is basically a magical Tinker—"

Tim glances up with wides eyes and interrupts, "A Tinker?"

Several of the Privateers start laughing at that, and while their accountant blushes, he doesn't take back the question. Someone clearly has a favorite group of capes.

Might as well roll with it. At least he seems interested. "Pretty much. I don't know a lot about it, but some things should be obvious. Look at Perfect Storm. It isn't made of wood and pretty rocks and ancient letters carved under the light of the full moon. It's very technological. Honestly, I thought it was Tinkertech at first."

"I gotta ask," one man in the back calls out, "this is all nice and fun, but you're saying you have something that looks like something out of a Tinker's lab but isn't, and you're saying they run on this weird energy that a few people have but a lot of people don't and calling it magic. If this isn't really Tinkertech, what the hell is it?"

That's one question you're going to delay on as long as you can. As Dragon proved, even video of the _Agharti_ isn't enough to satisfy some people's skepticism. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Let me prove what I'm claiming now, and then we can talk about that later, okay?"

Tim and Lacey have been having a quiet conversation while you were otherwise occupied, but they wrap it up quickly enough. "I'll be honest with you, Taylor," Lacey says. "When you said you had something to say, this isn't what I expected. It's cool that you're offering to give away powers like that me and Tim, but I gotta to pass on it. This is too much to wrap my head around and make a decision on right this second. Ask me in six weeks or whenever, however long it'll be before you can make another of these things, and maybe I'll take you up on it, but not this time."

Disappointing, but you suppose you can't blame her. If Perfect Storm had told you everything at once, would you still have said yes without thinking about it? …Well, maybe. Between the events at Winslow and your pitiful relationship with your father and just the utter, desperate loneliness that was your life back then, you probably would have taken the first hand that was offered to you. You doubt Lacey is in that same dark place.

"Your loss," Tim says in a teasing voice. "It seems simple enough to me. You say you can make me a Tinker? I'll sign up for that. What do we need to do to get this ball rolling?"

That's a good question. "Storm? Time to get started, buddy."

" _Aye aye, Mistress!"_ The Privateers chuckle at that, and your cheeks burn. You flash with orange light as your Barrier Jacket vanishes, Perfect Storm sitting in your hand without its customary silver chain. The blue jewel quivers in your hand, and acting on instinct you toss it into the air in front of you.

It hangs in midair and gleams innocently for a moment.

You and everyone else jump back and not a few people shout in surprise when the jewel _explodes_. A wave of wires and gears and slabs of metal flood the space. It's as large as a car, then a school bus; you're worried you are about to be crushed by your own Intelligent Device when the outpouring of pieces comes to a halt for just a moment. Something deep inside the mechanical mess shifts and turns, then the innards pull back with the same speed they came after you. They don't get as far, though. The sheets of copper and bronze clank together, seams sealing instantly and hiding the delicate machinery.

What stands before you is a short, blunt crescent, an oval of pale blue glass sitting in the middle of the curve. It is not as large as it once was, much to your relief, but it still stands half as tall as you and maybe half a bus in length. Swallowing your nervousness, you walk forward as slowly as you can without making your newfound doubts obvious and lay your hand on the glass dome. It shatters under your touch, the solid sheet breaking apart into tiny hexagons no larger than your thumbnail that roll outward in a wave and vanish into the edges of the opening that is revealed. All that sits inside is a slanted wall with an indentation in the rough shape of a person. "Is… Is Tim supposed to climb in there?"

" _Negative."_ Perfect Storm's voice is no longer the androgynous thing you are used to, but instead the deep voice from the training simulations. It – or has your Device been a he all this time? – somehow senses your confusion. _"No accessible power source detected. Mana will be drawn from Linker Core. User Taylor possesses sufficiently developed and enhanced Linker Core. Acceptable limit of strain calculated. Time for Device creation: 73 hours, 8 minutes, 50 seconds."_

You're going to be stuck inside that tiny room for three days?! Glancing at your dad, he guesses what you are about to ask because he sighs in resignation. "I'll call your school tomorrow, say you got sick and need to be excused for the day. I'm just glad we didn't try this in the middle of the week."

That's one thing taken care of, you suppose. Steeling your nerves, you step inside and turn around to face the team. "See you in a bit," you call out even as the shards of glass roll back out and reform into a opaque shield that tinges the walls of the inner chamber a deep, dark blue. "What do I have to do next?"

" _Lay in receptacle."_ Shrugging, you do so only for your clothes to flash and refrigerated air to wash over your bare skin. _"Garb stored in dimensional pocket as when deploying Barrier Jacket,"_ the voice says before you can raise a fuss.

Water, or some sort of liquid anyway, gushes out of unseen vents in the walls, prompting you to hook your heels against the lower edges of the indentation and hoist yourself up. You expect it to stop somewhere around your ankles, maybe your knees, but once it gets to your waist you start to panic. "Storm! What's going on?"

" _User Taylor will drift in suspension fluid during empowerment process."_ Small circular things press into your arms, your legs, your buttocks, and up your spine to the base of your skull. _"Advise preparation. This may sting."_

Your eyes flick around in perfectly reasonable fear while the water covers your chest. "What do you mean, sting—"

Red-hot needles stab through muscle and bone and flood your body with acid. You scream only for the sound to be cut off when water pours down your throat and into your lungs. You gag and gasp, your frantic attempts not to drown sucking more fluid down while your vision starts narrowing down into a single point…

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The _plink_ , _plink_ , _plink_ of water dripping onto a sheet of tin slowly rouses you. You just lay there for several long moments, thoughts drifting around sluggishly and not making any sense. A chilly breeze brushes against you, making you shiver and finally giving you the impetus to open your eyes. You immediately slam them shut when even the dim light surrounding you stabs them like daggers. "Storm?" you rasp through an aching throat. "Time?"

" _Local time nineteen forty-one, 17 April, Earth Bet year 2011."_

Nineteen… Military time, probably. And April seventeenth. That was three days, all right. Your arms shake and threaten to drop you flat on your face when you push off from the floor, but you manage to make it to a mostly upright position leaning against a wall. "What… happened?"

" _Strain to Linker Core avoided. Template duplication and Device construction completed without complications."_

Good. That's good. You still feel like complete and total shit, but right now you want out of this box. "Door?" Light burns against your eyelids, and you flop backwards and splat wetly against the cold linoleum. "Fuck. You."

"Taylor!" You can't make out anything through the glare, but you know Lacey's voice. The scratchy blanket she covers you with rubs your nerves raw even as it starts making you at last comfortably warm. "Are you okay?"

You aim a bleary glare in her general direction. Do you _look_ okay?

Something slides out from beneath your legs, and an ear-splitting grinding fills the world for far too long before a small object plops onto your chest. Sticking your hand out from beneath the blanket, you find a cool diamond-shaped thing. « _Infinite apologies, Mistress,_ » comes the soft mental voice of your Device. « _Linker Core–derived power source quaternary measure for replication. Additional redundancy, not meant for active use. Source comfort low priority._ »

You seriously consider throwing the infernal contraption against the nearest wall, but the sheer sorrow in its… his… the Device's voice stays your hand. The timbre, the word choice; you know that wasn't Perfect Storm you were dealing with in that chamber. That was Immortal Assimilation Engine, and for the first time you're glad your Device caught amnesia from its crash landing on Earth. Alien technology so cold and so powerful in the hands of a villain is a frightening image.

Warm and cold play against your skin for a moment before your clothes reappear. Chancing another look around, you find a green crystal tetrahedron sitting on the ground. « _That's Tim's Device?_ »

« _Affirmative. Upon activation, will install Transcendent Gadgeteer template into user._ »

"Neat," you croak. You pick it up and look around slowly, eyes still mostly closed. "Tim?"

"I'm right here," the accountant says as he walks into view. He chances a glance at you and then looks full on once he sees that you're no longer naked. "Are you all right?"

"Peachy. Catch."

You lob the pyramid at him, and bright green light erupts from it as soon as he catches it. Something swirls within the glow, and after about as long as it felt when you bonded with Perfect Storm, the light fades away to reveal the new and improved Privateer. Tim looks down through the tinted welder's goggles at his thick brown coveralls, the top pulled down with the sleeves tied up around his waist, and the muscle shirt that should be beneath it. And you do mean _muscle_ shirt. Tim was thin and reedy before now, a lot like you and your dad, but now he's wiry. He eyes his arm and pokes a taut bicep experimentally. "Taylor?"

« _Yeah, that's normal. No, it won't go away when you change back._ » He whips his head around to figure out where the voice is coming from before he turns wide eyes back to you. You smile in response, and a harsh chuckle slips out. « _Welcome to the world of magic, Tim, where full-body makeovers and telepathy come standard issue. It's a good thing Dad already picked you for his inner circle. Our Devices protect us from his powers. Getting a teamwork boost would be convenient sometimes, but since that same defense works against_ _ **all**_ _Masters and even the Simurgh? I think it's a small price to pay in the end._ »

"Lacey, maybe you made the right call," he says sheepishly. "I don't know that I'm ready for this, either."

"Told ya."

Your eyes roll. What are they complaining about? You had no idea what you were in for, and you handled it just fine.

"How long do we have before you go Tinker-crazy and take the microwave apart to make a death ray?" jokes Ramirez.

"No idea. It isn't like I have designs popping up in my head like… magic…" The men chuckle at the unintentional pun, but Tim is distracted by something flickering on one goggle lens. A hologram screen appears in front of him with what is probably a blueprint or something on it. "Huh. Or maybe I do."

Alex walks up behind him and looks over his shoulder at the screen. "Cool. Do you think that workshop you set up is gonna work?"

"…I think I may need some more tools. And parts. Lots and lots of parts."

"How long will it take to get everything up and running?"

Tim shrugs. "A week? Maybe a little longer if we don't want Ramirez bitching about the microwave."

"It's a valid concern!"

Entertaining as the sitcom in front of you is, you have work to do, particularly if you can get your legs to cooperate. You wave for Lacey to help you up to your feet. « _Anything important happen while I was out?_ » you ask your Device.

« _Protectorate announced Ward Bouncer missing, unclear if runaway or kidnapped. Delegation of Protectorate Case 53s will tour city and invite all curious independent heroes and rogues. Invitation forwarded specifically to Samantha. 'Calamity Witch' mentioned in further fifteen threads in PHO Creative Writing board, eight labeled adult content. Audio message received from Chevalier._ »

That last bit cuts through your mental grumbling about Internet smut-peddlers, and you look down at the jewel. « _Chevalier left a voicemail? Maybe it's about the statue. Play it._ »

" _Calamity Witch, it's Chevalier,"_ the message says. _"I asked around about the statue, but I only found something earlier today when I got a call from Legend. Someone must have mentioned it to him, and now he wants to talk to you."_ A small sound comes through, too garbled for you to make out. _"I don't know what you got yourself into, but whatever it is had him sounding worried. He said it wasn't urgent, and maybe it really isn't. I still think you better talk to him sooner than later. Not much rattles him, but this did. Give me a call when you want me to arrange a meeting."_

…Oh.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	60. Maskless 6-5

**Maskless 6.5**

 **Tuesday, April 19**

So _that's_ what Legend meant by 'outer door'.

Chevalier had been quick to set up a meeting with the world's premier Blaster and head of the U.S. Protectorate, no doubt pleased that you had agreed with him that this whole statue in your bedroom thing was something that needed to be settled posthaste, and Legend had been very understanding about not being able to meet until after 5 p.m. In his reply, he said to come in via his outer office door, which had made no sense at the time.

It is only now that you've dropped out of your maximum flight speed – and wince as the windows below you rattle with the aftereffects of your sonic boom – that you see what he meant, and in hindsight, it makes perfect sense. There are a number of heroes whose powers include flight, Legend and the other members of the Triumvirate included. It is a waste of time and an irritant besides to force such people who have previously scheduled meetings with the head honcho to drop to street level, walk into the ground floor of the skyscraper the national Protectorate office calls home, and then ride the elevator to the 67th floor just so they can get to their appointment. This goes double for a city as tall as New York, where it seems forty stories or so is the accepted minimum safe height if you don't want to smack into a window every few blocks. Instead, Legend apparently commissioned for someone to turn one of his office windows into an actual door, with a reception desk behind it and everything!

Drifting over, you knock at the glass door and wait for the receptionist to buzz you through. You land in front of the woman, wonder for a moment if her domino mask means she too is a cape or if it is just an additional layer of protection to ensure any boorish visitors listen to her when she tells them they have to wait, and say, "Hi, I'm Calamity Witch. I have an appointment for 5:20."

"Calamity Witch, Calamity Witch… Ah!" She taps the calendar printed on her desk and manipulates the image. Because of course the desk is a giant touch-screen, and likely Brute-proof, too. "Yes, there you are. You can go right in. Legend's last meeting ran shorter than he expected."

You give her a nod of thanks and square your shoulders. Now would really be a good time to have someone at your side to give you a boost of confidence before you talk to one of the most powerful parahumans in the world, but sadly your dad asked Samantha to stick around as backup while some of the Privateers go say hello to the Protectorate Case 53s who came to visit on a goodwill tour. You doubt it is solely due to the Beasts causing a racket, not with integration of even the 'monstrous capes' one of the Protectorate's biggest pushes right now, but the local situation probably doesn't help much.

Okay, Samantha still would have come if you asked, no question about that, but you're just having a conversation with someone who wants to help you. This isn't something you need backup for.

The door swings open soundlessly, but something tips Legend off anyway because he looks up from his paperwork to give you a smile. Unfortunately, that smile puts you on edge. You have seen photos of him at various charity and publicity events, and his grin is famous for always being wide and genuine. He honestly _likes_ representing the Protectorate and mingling with people. But his smile now? It is tight, strained; less an expression of happiness and more a mask to hide what he truly feels. "Calamity Witch, it is good to meet you. Please, come in. Have a seat."

Well, may as well get down to business, then. "Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice. The message Chevalier relayed was concerning."

"Concerning. Yes, that is one word for it," he sighs.

"He said you knew something about the statue?" you prompt when Legend does not move on, too lost in dark thoughts. Is he trying to frighten you? Because if so, it's working.

A silent nod precedes him reaching for a thin folder at the corner of his desk and puling out the photos Chevalier had his office take before you left the Philadelphia Protectorate headquarters. "Just so there is no mistake, this is the statue you found in your home, right?"

"That's it. Do you know what it is?"

"Unfortunately." He sweeps the photos together and stacks them nice and neat. "It's one of the Furies, Greek goddesses of vengeance and divine retribution. I would say this subject was chosen because of your actions dealing with the Empire Eighty-Eight, but this was commissioned and delivered before the details of that fight were known. Carving marble takes time, and surveillance of a cape even longer."

"Wow." You shake your head. "No offense, but I never would have expected you to have an interest of Classical Greek art before."

"I don't," he says quietly. "I had to get a crash course in mythology recently for something very much like this."

Your concerns that he is hiding anger fade away as you listen to his voice. Chevalier was right. Legend isn't mad. He's scared. "Do you know who sent it?"

"Know? No, I don't. I have my suspicions but not definitive proof." He looks up at you. "What do you know of the Adepts?"

"Not a lot," you admit. "They're a New York gang. Villains who've convinced themselves that their abilities are really magic."

He gives you, or more precisely your hat, a queer look before nodding. Hey, you're not some crazy parahuman who thinks she can use magic. You're an actual, MRI-proven mage. "Correct. They're led by a man named Epoch, whose can rewind, fast-forward, or pause time for someone or something for ten seconds. Not the most impressive power, but he's clever and uses it to great effect.

"About six weeks ago, Standstill, one of our newest Protectorate members found a statue much like that in her quarters. Hers, we learned, was of the sleep god Morpheus, which like yours was a reference to her powers. We started asking questions, looking for other heroes who had received similar 'presents'. Perhaps a week after that, she was on patrol when, according to her patrol partner, they encountered Epoch. Tinman was hit with Epoch's powers, and Standstill claimed she had been as well, but her story had some discrepancies that no one thought anything about at the time. She quit a month ago, though she told no one ahead of time and left behind only a letter saying she wanted to reconsider her life goals and whether being a hero was right for her. She was recently seen in the company of Felix Swoop, another of the Adept's members, though I don't believe she knows she was spotted."

All right, that does sound a little suspicious. "You think she was, what, kidnapped and coerced into helping them?"

"We don't know. Her letter did not contain any of the signs Protectorate and Wards are supposed to use to indicate that they are being forced to perform some action. In fact, she actually used the code phrases that mean specifically that this was her own choice. She could have been Mastered, but none of the known Adepts have powers that would let them do something like this." Legend grimaces. "It is also a possibility, unlikely but possible, that she truly did choose to join them of her own free will, but that makes no more sense than the other possibilities. I have known her for years, ever since she joined the Wards when she was fifteen. She never indicated that she shared the Adepts' beliefs about magic. I don't know why she would change her mind now."

"So you think they're coming after me next? Because of my name?" you wonder. It's just your luck that they would manage to pick a real mage as their next target.

"Possibly. I don't know." Leaning back, he adds, "Regarding the issue with Standstill, I would appreciate it if you kept it to yourself. Officially, she has retired from heroing. We don't want it to get out that she's joined the Adepts if the truth is that she was blackmailed or Mastered or otherwise left without any other choice." A strange expression sweeps across his face, and the smile left behind is the genuine article you're more familiar with. "And keep yourself safe. I don't want to be the one who has to give Alexandria the bad news that the Adepts did something to you."

You blink. "Why would you tell Alexandria? I mean, I'm just me. She's _Alexandria_."

"True, true. But just because you're new doesn't mean you don't have traits worth watching, and she's keeping her eye on you. You've been on her mind the last few times I talked with her."

"That's kind of intimidating," you whisper, a faint blush warming your cheeks. Alexandria, the most famous heroine on the planet, is keeping up to date on your adventures? That's humbling and incredible in the most terrifying way possible. "I guess that would explain why she was asking Samantha about me when they went hunting Lung."

He nods, eyes twinkling beneath his mask. "Just between us, it's rare for her to take an interest in someone. She has a 'type', you could say, even if none of us know exactly what that is. There's something about you, though, that has caught her interest."

You make your escape quickly after that, emotions in a tizzy between Alexandria's attention being focused on you and Legend's possible motives for telling you about it. Does he want you to get in touch with her? Maybe work together? Oh God, does he have a problem with her thinking about you and so he's trying to scare you away? But you haven't even done anything! Or could it be—

A bright light shines in your eyes, and you blink away the spots it leaves behind. Looking far below at the rooftop from which the beam came from, you spot a figure that, upon magnification courtesy of Perfect Storm, turns out to be a man with what looks like an industrial-grade laser pointer. A man wearing a midnight blue robe and hood, a golden clock face embroidered on the left breast.

« _Design recognition complete,_ » Perfect Storm chimes in. « _Identity: Epoch._ »

Epoch? The cape you were just talking about? Why is he _here_ , shining a laser in your face? Unless… he's trying to get your attention.

Satisfied that you've seen him, he pockets the forearm-length tube and walks across the rooftop. Turning around, he waves for you to come down and join him.

Looks like Legend was right, after all. The Adepts have set their sights on you next.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	61. Maskless 6-6

**Maskless 6.6**

This is a trap. You know it's a trap. It's the trapiest trap there ever was.

…And yet you're still curious about what Epoch has to say.

You're so dead, you decide as you drift towards the rooftop, but maybe you don't have to die alone. « _Samantha?_ » you project carefully. Perfect Storm has assured you on more than one occasion that you can reach your Guardian Beast anywhere in the world with telepathy, but you have never tried it from this far away. If your Device overestimated its capabilities—

« _Mrrrm…?_ »

A blink is the appropriate response to that message. That sounded almost sleepy. « _Sam, I thought you and Dad were standing guard in case something happened while the Protectorate had their PR thing going on._ »

« _We are,_ » she replies after a moment. « _Danny was just petting me to pass the time. What's up?_ »

« _I just talked with Legend,_ » you tell her, careful not to think too hard on what she said. Considering the eyes she's been making at your dad ever since you created her, you dearly hope that _isn't_ a euphemism. « _He said it was almost certainly from the Adepts, a villain group here in New York City. I just spotted their leader waiting for me._ »

« _So long as you don't plan to pick a fight— Oh, no. Please tell me you aren't going to follow him._ » You don't reply to that, but your silence tells her all she needs to know. « _Taylor, don't do it. This is a stupid idea, and you know._ »

« _He might just want to talk?_ »

A screaming groan zips across the line. « _Dear Empress. Okay. You want to do it that way? Fine. I'm coming over there right now. I'll stay out of sight,_ » she says before you can warn her off, « _but if I get even one bad scent, I'm busting in and busting heads. And you had better blast and slice him if he so much as lifts a finger wrong. And call Legend and tell him what you're about to do, damn it._ »

« _Do you really think I was going to follow a New York villain and_ not _tell the local Protectorate?_ » Giving Perfect Storm a mental nudge, you whisper, "Can you call Legend for me, please? Thank you."

« _Just keep yourself out of trouble for two minutes, all right?_ »

" _Legend speaking."_

"Legend, it's Calamity Witch." Epoch is still too far away for him to make out what you're saying, but he gives you a nod and blinks out of existence. Teleportation? No, wait, he was standing right next to the edge of the roof. Did he really just fast-forward a jump off a ten-story building? Flying faster, you glance down at the alleyway and see him walking calmly away as if such a fall wouldn't have broken his legs. Realizing you were leaving Legend hanging, you continue, "I just saw Epoch on a rooftop. He was waiting for me."

" _Do you still have eyes on him? I'll be right there—"_

"You don't need to do that," you cut in. "This might be the chance to find out what happened to your hero. If he did Master her, we'll be able to find out, and I'm immune to them, anyway. If he convinced her some other way, we'll know."

" _Can you keep this connection going that long?"_

You'll do him one better. "Are you at your computer?" « _Storm, can you send a video stream?_ »

The Intelligent Device chimes as Legend's affirmation trails off. _"Well. That'll work, I suppose. Just be careful."_

With both those warnings ringing in your ears, you descend to where the villain is holding a side door open for you. "Epoch."

"Calamity Witch," he answers with a smile. "If you'd like to come inside, we can talk somewhere more comfortable than a dirty alley."

"What reason do I have to believe I won't be walking into an ambush?" Epoch's smile fades, but it isn't anger that takes its place. He actually looks _sad_ , like he sees it as a personal failing that you don't trust him. This guy is the leader of a bunch of villains? Cursing your sympathy, you compromise, "You go first."

He nods and leads you inside and down a hall to a plain wooden door, behind which is a couple of chairs facing each other and a coffee table with an old-fashioned tea set. "Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you. I just want answers."

"Then answers I will provide." Pouring himself a cup, he settles down in one chair and gestures for you to take the other. You float an inch above the cushion just in case it's trapped but still low enough that he won't realize it. "What would you like to know?"

"Let's start with something easy. Were you the ones who left the statue?"

"We were. Did you like it?"

You eye him incredulously. They tracked down your civilian identity, broke into your house, and he's worried that you didn't like the statue? "Not my style."

Epoch chuckles and nods. "Understood. Geomancer's tastes aren't for everyone, but he's just so earnest with his work that no one has the heart to tell him."

"Threats also aren't my style," you continue in a low growl.

"Threats?" he asks in a voice of honest confusion. "What threats?"

"You broke into my house, into my _bedroom_ , and left a statue and a note with my cape name, and you don't see how that is a threat?"

He turns his head to look at you out the corner of his eye, the domino mask beneath his hood doing little to mask his expression. "I'm afraid I don't follow. Why would we give someone one of our enhancements if we wanted to threaten them?"

Now it is your turn to be puzzled. "Enhancement?"

"Yes. Wait," he says with a sigh, "didn't you touch the statue?"

You did, but maybe you shouldn't have. No reason to tell him that. "Do you touch strange things that appear in your bedroom without warning?"

Setting his cup in his lap, he rubs his temples with the thumb and middle finger of one hand. "That explains a few things. We laid one of our charms on your statue, just as we do all the statues we give to capes we are interested in. Touch it when you get back, and you'll feel your powers increase. The effect isn't permanent, but for most people it serves as sufficient evidence that our motives toward them are not malevolent."

"And leaving it in my bedroom?"

"What do you know of our membership?" You shake your head. "We have only one teleporter among our ranks, and his power is… awkward. Once he has a mental image of a person, he can go to one of two places: either to their side or to the heart of their domain, the place where they feel safest. For Tinkers, it tends to be their workshops; for some professional heroes, their mission rooms or common areas of their bases; but for most of us, it is our bedrooms. I assure you, Calamity Witch, Planeswalker is the very soul of discretion. He does not leave the room where he finds himself; he does not dig around in people's belongings or examine their photographs. All he does is leave the gifts and return to our base. He knows that his power treads upon the Unwritten Rules, but it is safer for him and you both not to appear next to you in public while you are in your secret identity.

"If you did not take on the enhancement and instead just saw the statue and the note, though, I can easily see why you might have thought it threatening. You have my personal apologies, Calamity Witch. It was never my intention to make you feel that you were in any danger. I merely wished to give you a token of friendship and hopefully have a conversation with you."

That is better, you suppose. "What kind of conversation?"

"Why, a conversation about magic, of course," he answers with a laugh. You scowl, which only makes him laugh again. "I know what our reputation is. Morons. Nutcases. We're parahumans who think we have some kind of mystical power that requires chants and offerings and dances in the moonlight. We have all doubted ourselves on more than one occasion. How could we not when we face obstacles and have no one to turn to for reassurance?" He leans back in his chair. "Even Maclibuin and I, the very founders of our group, have these same concerns from time to time. And then you came along."

"Me?" you ask. So the Adepts think you're something special, and out of blind luck they managed to pick someone who actually does have magic. Fantastic. "What makes you think I have the answers you want?"

"I think you have the answers because you have done a remarkably poor job of hiding your magical prowess. The only reason the public at large hasn't realized it is that they don't know what to look for." Doubt is still writ large over your face, and he sighs once again and sets his teacup down on the table. "Would you like a demonstration of what I mean?"

"Sure. Wow me."

Giving you a nod, he crosses his legs lotus-style and takes a deep breath in and out. A moment later, he slowly begins to drift up out of his chair and eventually stops a few inches above it. Credit where credit is due, it does look like an incredibly weak version of your own flight, but that said… "Good trick. You can join every other 'extreme magician' on TV who does the same thing."

"Very well," he agrees as he returns to his seat. "You have a point. In this place, where I have had time to prepare, I could pull such a thing off with stage tricks. How about something closer to home?" Before you can ask what he means, he shuts his eyes and cups his hands in front of him. Quiet seconds pass, but then a faint blue spark flickers and dies. It reappears again, and again, and then it is joined by its siblings. Soon they start lasting longer, and then they clump together and grow large and smoother and brighter.

A minute passes before Epoch opens his eyes and grins at your look of shock. In his hands hovers a pale blue sphere, a perfect match in all but color to your Flare Shooter.

"I have spent the last year working on ways to adapt magic to a more offensive purpose," he whispers. "This is the fruit of my labor. It is difficult to maintain such a thing, keeping the power harnessed when on its own it wants to dissipate. I can even throw it a few feet before it breaks apart. But it is far from impressive or practical. An attack that takes a minute to form? Worthless. I was tempted to scrap this project entirely, or at most try to adapt it to be a light source or something equally mundane.

"And then, like the whisper of destiny itself, what did I find online but a video of a new hero who called herself a witch. I watched it out of idle curiosity, and I am so glad I did. The flight and the invulnerability I could have written off as you being yet another flying brick, but your attacks? Your 'Flare Shooter'? No. The similarities were far too great to be mere coincidence. You understand magic at a level that I have never been able to reach despite all the years I have put into studying it. How could I let an opportunity like this slip away?"

"You want me to join you."

He shakes his head, a twinkle in his eyes. "If an amateur art group discovers that a master painter lives nearby, do they ask him to join them as an equal? Of course not. I am not asking you to join us, Calamity Witch. I am begging you to _teach_ us."

That was not what you expected. "Out of curiosity," you ask, "what would happen if I said no? Would you force the issue?"

"No. Not in the slightest. I would hope desperately that you would change your mind in the future, but I would not stop you from making your decision."

Because he's a nice guy, or because getting you mad would not suit his motives? You don't really know. This entire conversation has not been what you expected. "I can't give you an answer right now."

"That is understandable. I surprised you with this meeting." Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a business card of all things and hands it to you. "This will connect you to my business phone. You can't track it," he adds with another grin, "but you can get in touch with me without issue. I would appreciate it if you would let me know when you make a decision."

You stand, and he follows suit. "And what will you do in the meantime?" you ask. "Are you going to keep going after heroes like you did Standstill?"

"Hero, villain, rogue; magic makes no distinction, and neither do I." He tilts his head just a little challengingly. "I approached young Standstill as I have many others. I explained the powers she never knew she had. I gave her the means to contact me. And then I let her make her own decision, just as I am for you. Despite what Legend likely claimed, we did nothing to force her to come. She chose to join us and work to understand her gifts of her own free will."

Uh huh. "You managed all that in the ten seconds you froze her partner for?"

" _That_ is a secret for another time," he says with a wink.

There is little you have to say to that. Taking the invitation to leave, you walk out the door and into the sky. « _Video feed terminated,_ » Perfect Storm tells you.

The video feed! You honestly hadn't thought about it until now. Epoch's revelations had knocked you off-balance enough that you completely forgot. You just hope Legend won't react badly to the idea that you have the same power that at least Epoch does. Or that Standstill, if the Adepts' leader can be believed, really did quit the Protectorate and joined a bunch of villains. …Or that you didn't exactly tell Epoch no, but what were you supposed to do?! There were just too many surprises coming after you one after another!

"That was interesting," Samantha says once she jumps off a nearby roof and joins you. You give her a curious glance. "I was watching the video. Have to admit, not what I expected. A whole group of mages here on Earth Bet. Too bad they're villains, or they might make good allies."

"We'd need to do some digging before making that offer. Maybe they're villains like Faultline's group, mercenaries who get hired to break the law. Or maybe they're like the Empire and just have a charismatic leader."

"Seems more like the old Marche if we want to make Brockton Bay comparisons. I did some reading on who the players were and used to be back home," she explains. "If we want to talk about cultured scumbags, I'd think Marquis before Kaiser."

"Either way, not a decision I feel like making on impulse."

The orange light of Spatial Translocation shines around you, and then you're back in your bedroom. Curious, you let your Barrier Jacket fade away and touch the statue of the Fury again.

"Well," Samantha asks tauntingly, "do you feel your powers growing?"

"No." Your hand drops. "Absolutely nothing. So what the hell did he mean?"

* * *

 **Because the players chose to notify Legend about what all was going on (which was a write-in vote, not something I offered), they earned another Alexandria interlude.**

 **…They're eventually going to wish they hadn't.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	62. Maskless 6-a

**Jack Inqu:** It really shows you how grimdark Worm can be when "good, reasonable explanations" for somebody's actions make you paranoid instead. :-)

* * *

 **Maskless 6.a**

"I wish you had thought to record this conversation. There might have been clues you missed."

"My sincere apologies," Legend replied with no little snark. "I'm afraid I just wasn't prepared for someone to hack into my computer through our very expensive and complex firewall just to throw a video stream up."

Rebecca – or, more properly, Alexandria since she was in costume at the moment – rolled her eyes at that. Recording software was cheap and convenient. She should know; she had installed just such a program on her computer after a few issues with other people's faulty memories and subsequent miscommunications.

Eidolon, on the other hand, shook his head and focused them back onto the issue at hand. "So now this girl's staff not only does everything else we know about, but it also has a computer in it that can hack our firewalls. That's, what, seven Tinkers who had to be involved in designing this thing?"

"Six for the staff itself. The bio-Tinker should only be involved in creating her bodyguard." Alexandria tilted her head as an idea came to her. "Unless her staff contains a _biological_ computer, in which case there may only be six Tinkers involved, but one of them would need to have a great deal of talent and skill with programming. Seven Tinkers is more likely."

" _The point is_ ," he cut in, "that this is becoming a bigger and more powerful group with each new revelation about her capabilities, and we still don't know who they are, where they are, or what they want."

Legend sighed. "I've been thinking about this all day since I watched it, and I think I may have an answer for the last one."

"Oh? And what is it."

"The same thing Epoch was rambling on about. Magic."

She climbed to her feet and walked over to the window so she could stare out at the lights gleaming throughout Houston. "I can't believe we're seriously considering that as an explanation."

"Do you have a better idea for how Epoch suddenly gained levitation powers and supposedly the same Blaster ability Calamity Witch has? Did you put something special in that vial of his?"

"No," she said thinking back to her comprehensive mental list of Cauldron customers. "It was a fairly pure mixture, 95% M-0-0-4-2 with only five percent C-0-0-7-2. Even that much Balance formula was a concession; he only agreed to it because after Gray Boy and Alabaster, we were fairly certain that the undiluted Vestige sample was the cause of their altered appearances. He paid a premium for his vial, and as such we acceded to his specifications."

"Which he then used to become a villain and a thorn in our side," Legend grumbled. "Ten seconds isn't a lot of time, but he certainly makes good use of it."

"That's all well and good, but what did you mean by magic might be what this Tinker group is after?" demanded Eidolon.

"I find it hard to believe Calamity Witch's powers and Epoch's 'magic' are unrelated. What if these Tinkers are trying to tap into that power, whatever it is? Calamity Witch might have this same capability Epoch does, and they want to adapt their tech to run off of it."

"She isn't just the user. She's the power source, too," Alexandria said softly. "And if that's the case, it explains why they let her run around and do what she pleases. This entire experiment relies on her cooperation. They're probably getting a great deal of data, too, considering all the fights she's gotten into since her debut. The S-class incidents alone would give them a wealth of information."

Eidolon leaned back in his chair and hummed for a long moment. "All right. Let's run with that theory for a bit. We still don't know why they joined forces in the first place. Whoever had the idea first could have just as easily gotten her to test his equipment only. That would have been easier than getting all of them together. So why go through the extra effort?"

The Triumvirate fell silent for several minutes thinking about the possible reasons. An idle memory of Rime talking about some new entrepreneur show she was into crossed Alexandria's mind, and she followed that thought to its logical conclusion. "Exposure."

"What?"

"Legend, when we first talked about her, we said they couldn't be rogues because letting her claim these powers as her own wouldn't serve as a good advertisement. That was completely wrong. She _is_ a good promotion. An excellent one, even." Pacing around the room, she forced herself into a salesman's mindset and watched the pieces fall into place. "They aren't sure how well their adapted technology is going to work. If it doesn't need recharging, sure, it has some appeal, but if it's weaker than something you could buy from Toybox, that convenience isn't enough. Until they know that, they don't go for sheer power. They go for _versatility_. With the number of powers at Calamity Witch's beck and call, she would be a decently strong cape even if the individual powers themselves were weak. A one woman Yàngbăn, if you will. They picked her as their guinea pig, zapped her corona pollentia to make sure she didn't develop powers of her own that she might use instead of their toys, gave her the staff and a bodyguard to make sure she didn't get in over her head, and sent her on her way. It didn't matter what she did so long as it was flashy and memorable. _'You've seen Calamity Witch. Like you, she was nobody special, but now look at her! And just like her, all those powers could be yours for the low, low price of whatever'_. As soon as they reveal themselves to the public, she becomes their success story and their key to competing with Toybox and the Elite.

"And that was before they knew how potent this 'magic power' is. Our own threat ratings prove that. Forget being a middle-tier player. Working individually, they can sell a fantastic range of products, and for the richest customers? They put their tech together and put anybody on _our_ level or even higher."

Because that was the big problem here. Calamity Witch was starting to become more powerful than even the world's strongest parahumans could handle comfortably. Alexandria's flight, Legend's lasers, Narwhal's forcefields, Strider's teleportation, Rukavitsa's personal dimension, the Queen of Hearts' time control, all rolled into one? Alexandria's eyes flicked to Eidolon for a moment and moved on before he could notice. At his prime, he could have fought her, but not now, not with his powers failing faster and faster. That was with only one of her. Once these Tinkers started full-scale production, they would multiply faster than the Protectorate. Just like Toybox – and Cauldron, she would admit – they would not care what the buyer's purpose was. Villains armed with these devices would utterly crush any and all resistance.

Legend seemed to be on the same wavelength because he looked over at Eidolon muttered, "With this energy at her fingertips, she's as powerful as you were."

"Thank you," Eidolon said in a dry voice. "I would appreciate it if you waited until I was out of the room before discussing my replacement."

The blue-suited hero waved his hand between them. "No, no, nothing like that. What I mean is that Calamity Witch and Epoch have both shown themselves capable of channeling this magic. What if that's the key to you regaining your own powers? This may be what you're looking for to recharge your agent."

"It… isn't impossible," she agreed. Not to mention, if they had more members than just Eidolon who were capable of this? Take her worry and flip it around. She could see it now, an army of Eidolon-grade capes standing side-by-side against the Endbringers. Behemoth would still be a problem since so many of their offensive abilities were energy-based, but Leviathan and the Simurgh? They might actually be able to end the war against their destroyers. "It won't matter unless we know more about it."

"We could always pull Calamity Witch aside and have her tell us how to get ahold of her benefactors," Eidolon said. He looked more invigorated than he had, evidence of a solution to his power problem that might actually work for a change raising his spirits.

"She hasn't revealed anything about them yet," Legend reminded him. "Maybe she'll answer freely, but if Alex is right about their plans, she's more likely to keep her mouth shut until they give her the okay."

"Then we put pressure on her until she spills the beans."

"No." Legend and Eidolon both whipped their heads around to look at her in surprise and anxiety, almost as if her reaction had scared them. Her voice hadn't been that hard, had it? "We will not force her to tell us anything, and we certainly will not start hounding her like a criminal because she has information we want."

"It worked well enough before."

She gave Eidolon an unamused glare. "Yes, because the way we used to do things worked out so well for us in the end, didn't it? Cauldron's entire purpose gone and only our sins remaining. I'd like to avoid staining my soul any more than I already have, thank you. We will approach her, but we will do it properly. If she wants to help us, she will do it because she wants to."

"Fine," he all but spat. "Since you seem to have this all planned out, when are you going to talk to her?"

"After the next Endbringer fight. It would work best if she shows up, but even if she doesn't, she participated in the fight against the Simugh. She understands what's at stake." Legend gave her a suspicious look, and she shrugged. "I said we would not force her into anything. I never said I wouldn't take advantage of the situation to _persuade_ her to help us."

Eidolon grumbled unhappily, which she ignored. She understood his frustration at being forced to wait, she did, but this was not the way to go about it. They had to be better than they were; _she_ had to be better. Not to mention, if Calamity Witch was as much like she was when she was that age as she thought the girl was, trying to break her was a truly terrible idea.

"Besides," she tacked on as an afterthought, "that gives us time."

"Time?"

She nodded. "Contacting her Tinkers and obtaining their assistance does us no good if we don't have people to use the weapons they provide. So far, the only magicians we know about are their poster girl and a small-time villain, neither of which helps us. We need to look for more."

"How do you plan to go about that?"

"I call up the regional directors and tell them to keep an eye out for capes who have developed new minor powers over their careers or who have had strange things happen around them. Should someone ask, and I know at least some will, we don't have to call it magic. I'll say… hmm…. I'll say that we have evidence that in addition to their normal powers, some capes have the ability to manipulate a previously unknown energy field. That should give us a list of names to work off of."

"Why limit it just to the capes?" Legend asked. "Calamity Witch is proof that they don't need an agent to do this. We should look at the PRT, too."

She shook her head. "We don't _know_ that agents aren't involved. Calamity Witch had the potential to Trigger. Without more information, we can't say with any certainty that it doesn't play a role. Furthermore, there are far fewer capes than there are PRT agents. Searching through them will therefore be much faster, and considering we only have a few weeks at most before the next Endbringer attack, we need to move quickly."

" _Assuming_ we can find these people,and _assuming_ the girl doesn't die in the fight, and _assuming_ you can convince her to give you a way to contact them," Eidolon countered gloomily, "what are you going to do when these Tinkers prove difficult to deal with?"

Alexandria gave him a helpless shrug. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. We have to find them first."

* * *

 **Epoch is a Cauldron cape per Word of Wildbow. If I remember correctly, the shard that gave him his powers was the same one that created the aforementioned time capes in the series (also Cody). It even plays into his magic angle in a darkly amusing way: like Faust and witches of the Middle Ages, he got his powers by making a deal with the devil.**

 **Yes, I went there.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	63. Maskless 6-7

**Maskless 6.7**

 **Thursday, April 21  
** If there is one good thing about finding out that it was the Adepts who left that statue in your room – and, assuming Epoch was telling the truth, was not a threat to your civilian identity but merely the result of an unfortunate power – it is that you can force that mystery out of your head and focus on another one. That it gives you a distraction from wondering how you should deal with a cult of magic-wielding villains who want you to make them more effective at their crimes is definitely not part of your motives, not at all.

Anyway, to business. The Beasts.

The bystanders out shopping and the store owners closing up at five in the afternoon all watch you float above them, staff held out in front of you. This is the same block of stores where you first encountered the Beasts, and as a result you feel that it is the best place for you to begin your search. You don't think the Beasts lair around here, not with only a single attack, but they had to have some way of getting here in the first place, and they certainly didn't swagger down the street.

« _How do you want to do this?_ » Samantha asks from her perch on your shoulder. « _Just run around and ask the shopkeeps whether they had anything to do with the fake Case 53s?_ »

"Somehow I doubt that would do much good," you reply in a dry voice. "Anyone who is in cahoots with their maker isn't going to admit to it, and we'd just put everyone else on edge for no good reason. No, we need to be cleverer about it than that. Not to mention," you add as an afterthought, "we don't have any evidence that anyone here is a collaborator. This Typhon guy is a bio-Tinker, or that's what Miss Militia thinks, anyway. What's to say he can't do some other stuff besides make monsters, or that he can't trade a 'pet' for some other gadget he needs? If he had, I don't know, a few teleporters or something, he could move the Beasts wherever he wanted them."

« _That would mean he deliberately targeted these places, though. Why?_ »

"I don't know. That's the biggest problem with my theory," you say with a sigh. "But if he isn't sending them somewhere, what is the alternative? That he's letting murderous monsters with superpowers run around wherever they want? Explain to me how that isn't worse."

Samantha has no reply for that, much as you would have liked one, and instead she focuses once more on the visible city. « _You still haven't said what you're going to do to figure out where they're coming from._ »

Holding your staff out, you ask, "Storm, can you look for any any complex tech that might be Tinker-made, or secret passages, or some other hidden way for things to sneak around?" The Device chimes in agreement, and a small ball of red energy starts growing at the end. "Okay, then. Wide Area Search."

Twenty seconds later, a hologram screen appears at your side. « _Search complete. No abnormal technology found. No secret passageways found. Correlating with city records… No abnormalities found._ »

"Damn. I was sure we would find something like that." Shaking your head, you dismiss the screen. "Where's the next stop on our list?"

Fifteen minutes see you hovering in the sky, your expression thunderous. "How. The _hell_. Are the Beasts getting from place to place?"

Your long hair rustles as the raccoon unfolds into a woman, her arms wrapped loosely around your shoulders from behind. "Did you honestly expect to figure it all out in one day? The Protectorate has surely been working on this from the time they first realized the Beasts weren't Case 53s. With all the resources at their disposal, did you think it was going to be that easy?"

"Yes!" you hiss. "They don't have Perfect Storm! They don't have magic! I—"

You throw your hat off your head and run your fingers through your hair. Cut off from the rest of your Barrier Jacket, the witch's hat lasts only a second or two before crumbling away into digitized flakes. Your hands get batted away before Samantha takes over that job. "What's really bothering you?" she asks.

"It's this… Epoch thing. I guess I got used to thinking I was, I don't know, special. Sure, there are other people with Linker Cores out there. Tim, Lacey. There's a whole planet of them somewhere, even," you add with a vague wave of your hand towards the sky. "But here, on Earth? At first, I was the only mage, and then I was the one who gave Tim magic. It all stemmed from _me_. But now, with Epoch, the Adepts, having magic of their own? Magic that they discovered all by themselves?"

"They want you to teach them, though. Surely you haven't forgotten that in only a few days."

"I know. I'm not explaining myself well, am I?" You shake your head. "It's… It wasn't fate or destiny or anything that led to me finding Storm. This is real life, not a fantasy novel. I'm no 'Chosen One', and Storm wasn't waiting for me to come along. It was just blind luck that I was there that day. Storm could have been picked up by anyone, and I'd still just be another random face in the crowd. That's what I am without magic. A nobody."

"Taylor…"

« _Mistress not 'nobody',_ » Perfect Storm disagrees most vehemently. « _Possess natural talent with magic. Quick to learn and master spells. High intelligence. High tactical aptitude. Unlikely that potential other users would adapt as well as Mistress. Worthy of power. Calamity Witch origin would be honored._ »

That is certainly a longer speech than you normally get from your Intelligent Device, and you reach out with your left hand and give the red gem a gentle caress. You appreciate it trying to cheer you up.

"I definitely have no complaints about having you as my mistress, either," Samantha says with a light laugh in your ear. "Well, maybe a few, but they all have less to do with you being you and more with you being a silly human teenager with all the hang-ups that come with it. Nothing you can help."

You roll your eyes and tilt your head to bop against Samantha's. "Fine, fine, I get it. No more wallowing." She cheers and lets you go, and you wave your hand through the air to recreate your hat. Still, you wish you could figure this out, to salve your bruised ego if nothing else. You don't have the resources the city and the Protectorate does, but…

Wait a minute. Who says you _don't_?

"Storm, did you save the data from our searches? Pull it up again." Eighteen screens drift around you, and you grab one at random. "You correlated these scan with the city's records before. Grab all the information you can about this area and overlay it with the scan."

"What are you doing?" Samantha asks, looking over your shoulder.

"Tapping into the city's resources and combining them with Perfect Storm. What else?"

The screen turns into a mass of lines and squiggles and tiny text, and you take one look at it before glancing away. So maybe _all_ the information was a bad idea. "Lose the text, please." The screen becomes more bearable, but you still have no clue what you're looking at anymore. "What did you put on here?"

« _Recorded blueprints. Utilities. Tax records. Energy use—_ »

Too much, without a doubt. "I can't tell one thing from another here. It's all blending—" The screen becomes a morass of colors. "—together. Okay, that's better. This is _everything_?"

The Device chimes.

"We can cross some things off the list right now. Get rid of the roads and sidewalks." A grid of purple vanishes. "Trees, fire hydrants, water lines, power and gas, Internet…"

As you talk, the map returns to something more like what it looked like before, though it is still extremely red and pink. The pink is never outside the red boxes, so maybe interior layout? "Remove the buildings that have available public blueprints and that match those blueprints." Most of the blocks vanish, and of those remaining, you don't see any connections or extensions anywhere else. There are still some lines left, and you tap the deep blue one. "What's this?"

« _Waste sewer._ »

"The manholes are too small for the Rats to climb out of. The Slimes, maybe, but not the Rats. Get rid of them." Moving to the yellow, you tap again. "This one?"

« _Storm sewer._ »

"What about this?" you continue, all your focus on a yellow blotch sitting on the line.

« _Maintenance access point._ »

"Storm sewer, huh?" Didn't your mom tell you when you were little not to play in the storm sewers? You don't remember how big they were back in Brockton Bay, but if something gets clogged there, they would need to be large enough for people to get in and out. Might they be large enough for the Beasts? Tossing the screen back into orbit, you snatch another one. "Show me the storm sewers here."

Yellow runs over the map, and sure enough, there's another splotch.

You point to another scan. "There." A splotch. "And there?" A splotch. A quick grab earns you the first scan of the afternoon, and you stretch it larger. "And here?"

Not two blocks from the grocery store where you fought the Beasts is a bright yellow splotch.

"No wonder no one sees them coming or going," Samantha mutters. "They move around underground and only attack what's near an exit."

Which adds another point to the 'the Beasts are randomly attacking' theory, you realize with a shudder. "Give me a map of Philadelphia and show me where the storm sewers are. The suburbs, too," you add after thinking about the party fiasco.

One more screen appears, and your eyes widen at the twisted and _long_ system of tunnels put on display.

Samantha pops her lips. "Well. This is gonna be fun."

* * *

 **This chapter is early because we're finally caught up with the quest! Mostly. The players are actually one chapter ahead, but that is intentional and will remain the case. If you want to see a sneak peak, you can always join Sufficient Velocity and play along. (Shamelessly trying to get more players? Never!)**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	64. Maskless 6-8

**Maskless 6.8**

 **Monday, April 25  
** Stone walls stretch skywards around. A quick glance around shows that yes, these are the same walls you dreamed of a couple of weeks ago, though this time your dream, or perhaps the first Calamity Witch's memories, was kind enough to set you in front of the wooden door at the end of the path. Leaving it closed crosses your mind, but only for a moment. If this is a dream, maybe you'll figure out what your subconscious is trying to tell you. If it is a memory, it cannot harm you.

The door creaks open.

The wide pool of bubbling, boiling water still sits there. So does the little lump of dry land in the middle. And so does the little blonde girl who was there last time. She looks up at the sound of the door, and her bright blue eyes widen. "You… You came back?"

"I guess I did," you tell her, feeling bad for your slightly dismissive tone when you see how bright and hopeful her watery smile has become. "You never told me your name."

"Cassiel. If that's okay." She looks down and whispers, "My parents didn't think I deserved a name."

Her parents? Stepping closer, you take a better look at her chains. Thick steel links come out from deeper in the pool than you can make out through the bubbles, but they end in heavy manacles that are clapped onto her wrists. A little bit of red is visible where they rest, her pale skin beneath them undoubtedly rubbed raw. More chains wrap around her forearms to bind them together. You doubt being stuck that position is anything but torturous. "Are they the ones who put you here?"

She sniffles and nods.

"Why?"

"I'm a bad girl. Bad girls are punished," she says in the dead voice of someone reciting an oft-heard condemnation.

Those words hit you like a blow to the gut. Looking away for a moment, you rack your brain for the few things she said when you were here last time. "You said last time that _'it'_ was coming and you couldn't stop it. What is _'it'_?"

Cassiel whips her head back and forth so fast you're afraid she's going to hurt herself. Her words are breathy and terrified. "I can't talk about it. They'll find out. They said not to. Good girls are quiet and do what they're told."

"Did they find out you tried to tell me last time?" you ask, visions of what those monsters might have done to her for being a 'bad girl' dancing through your head.

Her silence is damning.

That makes your mind up for you even if nothing else about this fucked up situation would have. "We need to get you out of here."

"You can't." Her breath hitches as tears start streaming down her cheeks. "I thought you could, but you can't. No one can. They said so."

" _Watch me_."

Perfect Storm is not in your hands, but you know your flight spell well enough you should still be able to pull off a decent float all on your own. If Epoch can do it, you definitely can. The formula springs to mind with the ease of long repetition, but your feet stay firmly rooted to the ground. Are you just so used to using your Device to kickstart the process that you have trouble drawing out your magic yourself? A deep breath, and you feel for the power within—

"Magic won't work here," Cassiel tells you in a sad tone. "I thought maybe it could. You aren't a parahuman. You're special. But it doesn't."

Fine. If you can't fly, you'll just have to do this the old-fashioned way. You stick your foot into the pool in preparation to jump in and nearly shriek when the scorching heats seeps through your boot. Your Barrier Jacket makes you immune to fire— Except without magic, your Barrier Jacket isn't much good, is it? Maintaining its shape is probably the most you are capable of doing.

Something about that thought niggles at you, but you cannot put your finger on exactly what is wrong with it.

"You can't come over here," she says again. Cassiel hunches her shoulders, looking smaller and even younger than her nine-ish years warrant. "And you can't use your magic. How can you save me?"

"I'll figure something out," you promise. "There has to be some way—"

The walls and pond don't blur so much as shatter, and you blink your eyes to find yourself staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom. "What happened?" you ask out loud.

« _Telepathic intrusion resisted._ »

"Telepathic intrusion?" You roll over to look at Perfect Storm. "I thought you made me immune to Master effects like Dad's. You even stopped the Simurgh."

« _Telepathic connection subtle. Low power. Unnoticed until mental waveform abnormality detected. Once discovered, simple to disable._ »

A cold shiver runs down your spine. For months, you assumed you were totally resistant to the various Masters and Strangers out there. To be reminded that protection depends on Perfect Storm's ability to detect them, not to mention that even your Intelligent Device can be caught off guard, is not comforting. "Where did it come from?"

« _Unknown. Signal too weak to trace._ »

Low power. Too weak to trace. Easily disabled. You roll over onto your back again. "Dad's powers and the Scream, those were high-powered, right? You blocked them immediately. So they were pretty obvious." Perfect Storm chimes in agreement. "This was so weak you almost didn't notice it. Would anyone be able to take control of me with that kind of signal?"

« _Unknown. Low probability but cannot be ruled out._ »

It could be a villain coming after you in your dreams. No one would blame you for protecting yourself from such a person. But if that really is a scared, hurt little girl on the other end, ignoring her would be closing her last door to safety. And you will never know which it is until it's too late to change your mind.

"And Mom wondered why I hated 'The Lady, or the Tiger?'."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	65. Maskless 6-9

**Maskless 6.9**

Indecision wars within you, but at last you make your decision. Yes, there is a chance this is all a trap. Yes, if there is a villain on the other side of the line, you are leaving yourself open to be manipulated or even Mastered, and that thought naturally scares you. It would scare anyone.

But you'll take that chance. The alternative is leaving a hurt, abused little girl in the hands of monsters. You are _not_ the kind of person who will do that.

Just because you're going to assume Cassiel is who she says she is doesn't mean you won't stack the deck in your favor. You're a hero, not a fool. "Storm, do you think the next time Cassiel contacts me you could listen in? Or at least monitor the connection so you'll know if she's trying to control me?"

« _Can be attempted. Not guaranteed,_ » your Device warns. « _Connection fragile. Interference or surveillance may disrupt it once again._ »

"I guess we'll just have to take that chance the first few times. Just try to be light-handed about it. I'd rather not leave her alone any longer than we have to."

Decision made, you glance at the clock and sigh. You need to get up and moving if you want to get to school on time. And once classes are done?

It will be time to go after the Beasts.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

A rumble grabs your attention, and you turn away from the maintenance access hatch to see a familiar motorcycle rolling to a stop in front of you. "You got my email?" you ask with a smile.

Miss Militia dismounts from her massive Harley, and you swallow the comments that come to mind about only buying American. She would… probably take it as a joke, but no reason to push her buttons unnecessarily. "Clearly. I'm the only one they could spare with Winter Hill and MS-13 at each other's throats again. The last thing we need is a gang war breaking out while we are all otherwise occupied." She gives you a pleading look. "If you would be willing to postpone this until tensions have eased, though…?"

"Miss Militia, you were the one who told me Tinkers need time. Typhon has already had months to work. I don't intend to give him any more time if I can help it."

A loud metallic screech punctuates your words, and you turn around to see Samantha forcing the hatch door open. Laying the strange bone harpoon she came back from the Brockton Bay battle with over her shoulders, she shoots both of you an innocent look. "Anyone else coming?"

You drop through the hole after her, your heels clacking on the floor when you land. Your mask is already compensating for the lack of light, but since neither your Guardian Beast nor Miss Militia have the same advantage, you create a single Flare Shooter and modify it to throw out far more light than it normally does. The Protectorate heroine slides down the ladder and flicks her eyes at the miniature sun. "Convenient, that."

"I thought so." You pull up a holographic screen with the map of the storm sewer system and have Perfect Storm mark your location, and then you begin walking deeper into the maze. "What has the gangs riled up, anyway?"

"We don't know for sure, but our best guess is drugs." Miss Militia walks a little faster until she is beside you, and you catch a gleam of green and black before a [url= wiki/Saiga-12]cruel-looking gun[/url] with a long magazine appears in her hands. You don't know exactly what it is, but it's obviously military-grade hardware. "When you have one gang that is part of a major Mexican cartel and another that has a Tinker whose speciality literally is pharmacologics, there is always going to be some tension. With your team putting Fairyland on the defensive, they are both trying to expand into new territory."

"You're saying this is the Privateers' fault?" Dad has said they have had a great deal of success lately, but neither of you ever thought that would be enough to set off a gang war. Cleaning up the city should be making it less dangerous, not more.

Either your voice is harder than you meant it to be or Miss Militia was already anticipating this question because she immediately says, "Your fault? No. Gangs and villains will jump on any opportunity they see. If you weren't putting pressure on Fairyland, something else would have set them off. We have the PRT and the Protectorate keeping an eye on things with the police, and the Wards are taking more patrols near the gang borders to scare the foot soldiers way before they can start any confrontations."

That is treading far too close to a topic you really don't want to discuss, but if you're honest with yourself, you have been wondering about one Ward in particular. Miss Militia may not broach the topic herself, so it is up to you. You just don't know how you're supposed to bring it up.

"Speaking about the Wards," Samantha cuts in, "how's Vista doing? Is she okay?"

Damn it, Samantha!

Miss Militia shakes her head. "She's handling things as well as can be expected. Any hope of maintaining a civilian identity is all but gone, of course, but she's working through things better than I would have. She actually went to Brockton Bay with us, though she went after the independent villains rather than one of the bigger gangs."

No civilian identity. Miss Militia said something similar to that the last time you talked, and your near certainty about why that is fills you with dread. You saw with your own two eyes just how badly Cadejo hurt her. "They couldn't save her arm, could they?"

"No. No, they couldn't."

Those words, said in such a blank voice, hit you like a brick to the face. "I… I know she doesn't want to see us, and I don't blame her, but—"

You cut yourself off when Miss Militia raises one hand. "You might be surprised. Vista is young, yes, but she's been a Ward for several years. She was actually one of the most senior Wards in Brockton Bay, in fact. She knew the dangers every time she went on patrol, and up against Cadejo, somebody who has already killed multiple heroes _including_ a Ward?" Miss Militia stops to give you her undivided attention. "Yes, you inviting her on patrol is how she was injured, but that could have happened on any patrol with or without you. There's no way to know. What we do know is that without you there, no one could have gotten her back to base in time. You're the only reason she's still alive."

Those words you never expected to hear. You were sure the Protectorate was going to blame you for everything. It's how things seem to always go for you. You did not expect them to think fondly of you, to praise you of all things for not turning that disaster into an unmitigated clusterfuck. You don't know what to say to that.

"As for Vista herself?" Miss Militia shrugs. "She's been asking about you, actually. Wanted to know if anyone's seen you, if there was any rumor that you had been injured yourself. We haven't told her about your statue problem, though, don't worry. With everything else going on, the last thing we want her worrying about is someone violating the unwritten rules and going after people in their homes."

"Even that might not be so bad." The patriot looks over at Samantha, who explains, "Turns out it was the Adepts' teleporter who left it for us. They were inviting us to join their little club."

"I hope you turned them down."

"I didn't give them a yes or a no," you tell her. Should you tell her about how the Adepts really have figured out how to cast magic? No, you decide, or not right now, anyway. In the middle of a hunt for the Beats is not the best time to start a debate about parahuman powers versus magic, not to mention that even with the MRI scans and the video showing the interior of the _Agharti_ , it took hearing aliens on an interstellar radio before Dragon would consider magic as a believable explanation. You really need to figure out how to broach that topic with the Protectorate. On the other hand, you could just keep it to yourself for now. Tim promised to build you a mana generator as soon as he he rebuilt his production equipment, and once that is done, you could call them up and figure out how they like to introduce themselves to new worlds.

While you were thinking, you weren't talking, and now Miss Militia is staring at you. Because you didn't elaborate on why you didn't give the Adepts a straight answer? Probably. "Why are they villains, anyway?" you ask instead. "I tried to look up what they were involved with online, but I didn't find much."

"I don't know any details, but they are primarily a mercenary group from what I have read. Exactly what sort of jobs they are hired to do, you would have to talk to someone from New York."

Or ask them yourself, though you don't say that out loud. You don't want your name associated with villains, but if you could flip them around the way you did Purity? Maybe you would be more willing to consort with them then. You just do not know if you can pull off the same trick twice.

The light from your Flare Shooter catches on something in the near distance, and the three of you slow down and approach silently and cautiously. "Please tell me those Spider things can't actually spin webs," you say when you reach the mesh of glowing silk.

"Who knows?" Miss Militia's gun morphs into a machete, and she hacks through the web with several powerful strokes. It changes back as soon as she's done. "Just a question, but since you use fire, you're fireproof, right?"

"We both are," Samantha explains.

"Good. Good. Between that and being Brutes, you should be fine."

"Fine from what?" Miss Militia ignores your question and walks through the doorway that had previously been blocked off by the webbing. The room beyond is larger than you would have expected for an intersection, but you suppose any workers who come down would need to have room to work and put heavy machinery. The entryways are decorated, too, vines carefully cultivated to form arches. That is really strange.

Your brow wrinkles. How are vines even growing down here in an underground storm sewer, anyway? Vines are plants, not mold. They need sunlight.

"Duck!"

You drop to the floor almost before you have time to process Samantha's order. Your Guardian Beast whips her harpoon around above you and lashes out, and a thud is followed by a wet slap. Spinning around yourself, you see a tangle of vines lying on the ground, but unlike normal vines these spasm when Samantha stabs her harpoon into the center of the mass. Miss Militia wastes no time shooting, and the shotgun blasts out a spray of white sparks that engulf the plant.

 _Thump. Thump. Thump._

You look behind you, heart pounding. Oh, goodie. You walked right into an ambush.

The plants have uncoiled and twisted up on themselves again, and a pale liquid the same color as what you thought was webbing quickly covers the skeletal forms and turns them into gaunt, headless humanoids. Despite their lack of mouths, they screech and rush you.

"Storm!"

« _Reconfiguring._ »

You flip the staff upside down right before the pole doubles in length, and heat washes over your back. A little closer… just a little closer… _Now_! You swing your staff, and orange flashes at the head as two of the Gaunts fall to the ground in four pieces. The pole whacks a third in the side, the monstrosity too close to you now.

No matter. You jump to the side and fly backwards. A line of orange light slices through the Gaunt's waist, and the edges catch fire from the surge of heat. You spin to a stop, the anger on your face no doubt lit up by the glow of the four-foot-long scythe blade now attached to the end of your Device.

While you were handling your Gaunts, Miss Militia and Samantha took out another two, and now the heroine is staring at your energy blade. "That's new."

"I decided I needed more close-quarter options." Flare Blade loses its cohesion and is sucked back into the slot in Perfect Storm's arms that you only noticed after asking your Intelligent Device to install a partial Knight template into your Linker Core, and the extra length of its pole retracts. You tested it when you first figure out how to cast it, and after cutting through brick and metal with ease, you knew you had something magnificent. Sharper than any physical blade can ever be, hot as the surface of the sun, and yet it will not kill anything you don't want it to.

Tinker bullshit has nothing on magic.

You pull up the map of the sewers again and frown. "Overlay the areas we scanned on here." Red circles appear along the yellow lines. Waving Miss Militia closer, you point at the dot that indicates where you are. "This doesn't make sense. We're still a good way away from where most of the attacks have been. Why would there be monsters lying in wait here?"

A roar echoes down the tunnels, and Miss Militia grabs your arm. "This wasn't an ambush. It was an early warning system!"

"Where are we going?!" you demand when she pulls you back the way you came.

"If Typhon can throw away monsters just to set off an alarm, he has more than we thought he did! This is too big a job for just the three of us!"

You aren't used to sprinting like this, so you wind up drifting in Miss Militia's wake like a witch balloon by the time you reach the access hatch again. Taking rearguard position, Samantha slams the door shut. "Calamity, melt the door shut. We don't need them coming after us."

Miss Militia has mostly caught her breath when you finish sealing the door, and she pulls out her phone and taps the screen a few times. "Chevalier, it's Militia. Yes, we're out of the sewers. No. No, we don't have Typhon." She looks over at you. "She's right here. Hold on, I'm putting you on speaker."

" _Calamity Witch,"_ Chevalier says, _"glad to hear you're both safe. What happened?"_

"We ran into a new kind of Beast. Some kind of plant-thing this time, not an animal theme like the others." And that was odd. At least with the Rats and the Slimes and the Spiders, there was an animal brain to start from, and the Spiders even had human heads. The Gaunts, on the other hand? They didn't have heads of any sort, and plants certainly did not have brain to work from. "They weren't that hard to kill, but it sounded like something else was about to come after us after we killed them."

Miss Militia takes over now. "It was almost as if they were stationed there as guards. They attacked us as soon as we passed through. What I'm worried about is how many creations Typhon really has if he can afford to put six of them on guard duty at the same spot."

" _He's always sent them out in small groups, but we knew he had more when we tried to hunt them down and they overran that party. I hoped we had managed to take out the majority of his reserve force, but either he has a lot more than we thought or he can replace them that quickly. Either way, this has just become more dangerous than we ever anticipated."_ The leader of Philadelphia's Protectorate is silent for a moment, and when he continues, his voice is grim. _"Pull back. I am hereby declaring this an official A-class situation. If we can get word about the Truce going into effect out quickly enough, maybe it will force Jotunn and Cadejo to back down. We're going to need everyone we can get."_

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	66. Maskless 6-10

**Maskless 6.10**

 **Thursday, April 28  
** You slide your hands over the blue, backpack-sized shell sitting on the table and look up at Tim. "It's smaller than I thought it was going to be. When we talked about a generator, I was expecting something more in line with an emergency generator or something. Especially when you said you would design it to run off gasoline."

"I thought so, too, but when I started flipping through Sextant's blueprint library, I saw that there were several different designs that all had more or less the same effectiveness," the accountant turned Tinker says with a shrug. "This isn't even the smallest one. Far from it. It was one of the easier designs to get working, though. The smaller ones, especially those that are meant to be put in people's bodies, look a lot trickier." He shrugs. "Shouldn't be too bad, though, now that I've finished this one. I bet they'll be easier to build sooner or later."

"Sooner, hopefully," you mutter quietly. "And speaking of implants…"

"Don't worry. I got your email. No promises, but I'll give it my best shot. No little girl deserves to go around crippled."

Vista probably wouldn't take being called a little girl well, but if she knew what you and Tim were planning, you expect she would hold her tongue. Tim had confided in you that when he went digging around Sextant's memory banks for blueprints for power armor, he also found designs for all different kinds of prosthetics with similar properties. He doubted the other Privateers would take kindly to him asking to chop off their limbs, an opinion you agree with, but you know someone who won't mind the chance to receive a new arm.

You just need to contact her and figure out how in the world you make this kind of an offer.

Your dad and Tim make smalltalk for a while before the second of the Privateers' mage has to take his leave. "What do you need this for, anyway, Taylor?" your dad asks when he returns to the pitch from showing the man out. "You've been tight-lipped about it, even for you."

Ouch. On the one hand, that comment really is not true. You have been very open with him, a lot more than you used to be. Just… not about everything. On the other, and dogging the heels of the first thought, this is one of those things you have not told him about. You don't know that you want to, either. Somehow, you just know he will see keeping your contact with an alien civilization a secret as a grounding-worthy offense.

Normal teenage girls get their phones taken away. You lose access to an interstellar radio. Same difference, right?

"Storm needed more power for something," you tell him instead. That is mostly true, and it is still vague enough that he should, if you're lucky, assume it's something technical and boring…

"Oh, okay. Do you need any help getting it upstairs?"

In lieu of answering, you pick it up and cradle it in your arms. Not that heavy, either. "I think I can manage."

Once you have reached your bedroom, you set the generator down next to the radio itself. You are very tempted to plug it in and switch it on, but you steel yourself. As important as the next conversation with the space wizards – or at least Enforcer Command – is, you know you cannot go off half-cocked. This is something that needs to be properly planned, with great thought given to how you're going to both make a good impression on them on behalf of your planet and how to make sure they provide any help with the Endbringers they can offer.

Thankfully, you have a wise dragon on your side.

"Storm, I need you to compose an email to Dragon. Let her know that we now have a generator that will power the radio, and we can call them whenever is convenient for her. It sounded like this TSAB might be willing to help us with the Simurgh or even all the Endbringers, so any information she could have ready to go shen we talk to them would be appreciated." You stop and think for a second. "And, you know, if she has a first-contact package or something that she's been working on in the meantime, that probably wouldn't go amiss, either."

« _Composing message._ »

"Oh, and give her any information you have on the TSAB, too," you add on as an afterthought. "Maybe if we tailor the message to whatever the group—"

« _Request impossible._ » You stare at the Device in befuddlement, so Perfect Storm helpfully explains, « _No information regarding 'TSAB' or 'Enforcer Command' in memory files. Likely group encountered recently. Newer records most heavily corrupted._ »

And Perfect Storm's amnesia raises its ugly head again. "What can you guess about them after our little chats?"

« _Not Imperial organization. Unlikely Galean in origin. Too diplomatic for Belkan affiliation. Analysis of diction and syntax most similar to Molse subjugates. Possibility for Molsan or Kataric former colony. Multi-world mercenary force versus new minor alliance not unreasonable._ »

'Galea' you know, and 'Belka' has popped up very occasionally; mostly you know they were the main enemies of the Galean Empire. But Molse? Katar? You can only assume these are other worlds. How many planets are there with intelligent, magic-wielding life on them? Do you even want to know?

" _Calamity Witch, this is Protectorate Console,"_ comes from your Device in a young boy's voice. _"Assistance needed. Please respond."_

How did the Protectorate Console get your number? Oh, wait. You told Miss Militia to call you if the tensions between Winter Hill and MS-13 broke out into open fighting. "Calamity Witch here. What's the situation?"

" _Oh, thank goodness. There's a situation at the intersection of Greene and Wabash. MS-13 attacked a PRT transport, and they have them pinned down hard. Chevalier, Sere, and Miss Militia are moving in to help get them out, but Winter Hill's capes and normal gang members came out of nowhere, too, even if they're going after MS-13 instead of us…"_ The cape, you think Cherry Bomb but maybe Flambe, trails off for several long seconds. _"Oh, crap. Sere says Cadejo just showed up."_

A thought shuts off the call, and you transform into your Barrier Jacket. No doubt having heard the entire conversation, a gigantic badger-raccoon storms into your room. « _You better not be thinking about going off alone,_ » Samantha says. « _If you're wading into a gang war, you need me watching your back._ »

"Wouldn't have it any other way," you tell her with complete honesty. Opening the window, the two of you race towards downtown. It's time to give somebody a bad day.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	67. Maskless 6-11

**Maskless 6.11**

The city blurs beneath you as you rush to the intersection where this disaster is going down. « _Where should we focus our firepower?_ » you ask your Guardian Beast. « _Cadejo or the grunts? Or should we go after Winter Hill? MS-13 might be more vicious, but Winter Hill has more capes and honestly the better publicity. Philly doesn't need them entrenching themselves like the Empire did back home._ »

« _One tiny problem with that,_ » comes Samantha's reply. « _With this Truce in play, going after Winter Hill would be a good way to bite off more than we can chew. Not to mention that it sounded like our dear Irish mobsters are on our side for once. No reason to pick fights with people who are offering help._ »

Reaching Greene Avenue, it doesn't take long to find the fight. All you need to do is follow the gunfire. The black PRT transport bus lays on one side, the road next to it and the front of the vehicle a mangled mess. The troopers who were inside either the back or the cab are crouched down behind the roof, using the thick metal bus as cover from the bullets coming from a building on the opposite side of the street. An ambush, then.

It nearly worked, too, until capes got involved. All four of Winter Hill's combat capes and the three Protectorate members must have arrived at about the same time for them to coordinate the way they have. The Irish foot soldiers are split into two groups, one led by Cailleach and the other apparently being led by Miss Militia, though the pyrokinetic Solaire is with that group as well. Together they are providing covering fire and the occasional flaming sword for the pinned troopers, shooting assault rifles whenever they see a glint of metal peeking out from the shattered windows of MS-13's perch. While the Maras duck down, Pounce comes out to play. All you see is a white blur that resolves into a dark-skinned woman in a backless catsuit – complete with tail and fluffy ears on her hood – before she grabs one of the troopers and zips back over to safety down an alleyway. You can't help but notice that the villainess has to lean against a wall immediately afterwards. A limitation to her powers' duration, or is it just because she carried someone else with her? You file that question away in the back of your mind.

Cadejo's appearance made things more complicated, but watching him, you decide your help really is not needed there. Chevalier and Jotunn have him well in hand. Most of his bodies might be intangible, but his teeth and claws still need to be real to do any damage, and they are no different in shape or size than in a normal dog. Chevalier is taking advantage of the former fact, enlarging his cannonblade to an otherwise absurd length and skimming it along the ground to send the ghostly canines flying. Jotunn, on the other hand, has taken a more masochistic approach. Impossibly sharp Cadejo's weapons might be, but they are no more than splinters to the ten-foot-tall giant, and they give the leader of Winter Hill a good grip with which to hurl them down the opposite street and away from the battlefield.

Poor Sere, bereft of easy targets to dehydrate, is stuck watching over the rescued troopers.

Should you throw up Recursion Field? That has become one of your go-to spells, and it would let all the capes focus on Cadejo. But… You run through the list of capes in your head. Going by what Perfect Storm has catalogued the times you used Recursion Field around capes, most of the capes you see would get sucked up. The only one you aren't sure about is Pounce, and if she is as fragile as you expect she is, you really do not want to risk the only available means of getting the PRT out of the line of fire.

Blue glitter swirls around one of the broken windows of the Maras' perch for a few seconds, and then it explodes into a flower of ice. Cailleach's construct stays there for not much longer than it took to make it before its own sheer weight rips it off the wall. You thought she could make her ice bombs appear wherever she wanted them, but it looks like she is limited to line of sight. You are learning just all sorts of useful information about your enemies today!

"Storm, hook into the Protectorate's channel," you order your Device. Useful information or no, your fellow heroes called you over to help, not make notes. "Miss Militia, it's Calamity Witch. Where do you need me?"

The gunslinger startles, but she forces back the reaction to look around for you. _"Whatever you can do to help would be good. If you can get these guys to back off, that'd be better."_

A Mara takes the opportunity your conversation provides and shoots a couple of bullets at Cailleach's group before the answering fire from Miss Militia's forces him to duck back into cover. Drifting above his target group, you size up your opponents' defenses and nod. Philadelphia has a dearth of flying heroes – the same problem that plagued the Protectorate back home, come to think of it, although they had New Wave to call on if they needed more air support – and MS-13 chose their placement with that in mind. They have the high ground against anyone stuck on the street.

Too bad you're above them in turn.

"This is going to sound crazy, but I need you and Winter Hill to stop shooting at them when I give the word."

" _You're right. That does sound crazy. We still have men pinned down there!"_

"I know that, Miss Militia. I do. But right now, you need to trust me on this. I can't do anything with them turtled up in there."

Silence, and then, _"…On your signal, then. This better work."_

Oh, it'll work, all right. You slide your hands up Perfect Storm's shaft until they are near the cylindrical slide sitting beneath its head. "Ready for this?"

The Device makes no sound in response, but the slide slips back to reveal a revolver's chamber.

You focus your attention on Perfect Storm's storage dimension, the same place it shoves your clothes every time you transform into your Barrier Jacket, and a glow fills your left hand before it resolves into two bullets. These aren't normal bullets, though, for all that you made them out of empty shell casings. At the ends where metal slugs normally sit are instead oblong shells of orange amber, the crystalized form of the magic you shoved into these cartridges. Three days' work trying to get the process right, and these are so far your only successes. Thankfully you have better hopes for the next batch now that you figured out where you had gone wrong all those other times.

You push the cartridges into the waiting slots and flip the mechanism closed. The real problem isn't the gang members in the building; it's the guns they carry. Lethal Flare Shooters would destroy the guns, but they also throw out heat and radiation. Explaining the latter is not something you want to deal with right now. Rust Shooter works just fine against metal, but the mana needed for that spell is sufficiently different that normally you can only manage one bullet at a time, two if you push yourself.

In this case, _'normally'_ is the operative word.

A casting sigil spins into life beneath your feet, and two pops emanate from the chamber. Magic surges through your body. A wave of your hand, and you have not one or two but seven Rust Shooters hovering in front of you. "Now!"

The gunfire from Winter Hill stops. It takes a second for the Maras to catch on, but then they shove their own guns through the windows to begin shooting at either the transport truck or the opposing fighters. Big mistake. Your magic bullets zip through the air and smash into the centers of the assault rifles, steel and copper dissolving like spun sugar in their hands.

"Take that!" you can't help but laugh. Rust Shooter is not one of your more common spells, but there is a reason it was one of the first spells Perfect Storm taught you. When it is the right tool for the job, it really shines.

A wave of fatigue hits for you a moment, and you drop a foot or two before regaining control of your flight spell. Right, Perfect Storm said that would happen, something about your Linker Core having trouble handling sudden influxes of mana like the one spending cartridges causes. It passes quickly, and now you're ready for the hard part: getting close and hitting the remaining gangers with Flare Shooter. Too bad for them that you got rid of most of their weapons…

Something glints in the window, and a white trail streaks at your _oh fuck missile_ —

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"…cking Brut…"

A groan. A twinge in your head. A giant knife in your chest.

"…up. Come on, get up!"

"Uuuuuuuhhhhhhhh."

"About time. Wake up, witchy."

The streetlight stabs your eyes when you try to open your eyes, and you groan again before the lights dim down to something tolerable. A swarm of people in blue bodysuits buzz around you and hold up their hands. "How many fingers do you see?" they demand.

What…? "Sixty-nine?"

" _Greaaat._ 'Cause things can't be easy." The swarm is starting to come together, and one of the women pulls you into a sitting position. Is it Ca… Cal… the ice girl? And now you're propped up against her chest. Her, Tattletale, Pounce. Stupid sexy villains and skintight spandex. "Now's not the time to flirt. You need to call off your gal pal before she gets bored with the Maras and comes after us."

Your gal? Samantha? « _Saaaam._ »

A loud crash comes from somewhere in front of you, and Ice Girl moves a little when a thing thuds close by. Samantha runs over, her suit looking a little ragged and splattered with ketchup. Did she get food? You're not hungry. "Get away from her," the raccoon growls.

"H-Hey, I'm the only reason she's upright. She's got a nasty concussion. Just woke up."

" _Move_."

You scream when Icee tries to push you towards Samantha and something grinds in your side. Skittering, and then you're in her arms. "Where does it hurt?" Samantha asks normal-ish. Then she pokes something and you scream again. "Broken rib. At least two," she adds when she gets another scream out of you.

"RPG to the face, and she's knocked out and busts up a couple of ribs. Fucking Brutes," mutters Ice Pack.

Samantha tries to move you into a comfortable position. She almost succeeds. « _All right, Taylor. Time to get you home._ »

« _Home? Sleep?_ » That sounds good. Good plan.

« _No, you need to stay awake for me. Taylor. Wake up!_ »

« _No. Sleep time. Night night._ »

You close your eyes, and everything goes away.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	68. Maskless 6-12

**He-with-many-hyphens:** I feel the need to correct this misconception. Falling asleep after a concussion does not cause you to fall into a coma or die. It's actually beneficial. The problem is that if you take a blow to the head and develop an intracranial bleed, you can wake up and be lucid for a little while before slipping into said coma. These two conditions can't be differentiated easily early on, and for this reason you should really go to the ER to get a CT scan if you get hit hard in the head, doubly so if it knocks you out.

* * *

 **Maskless 6.12**

 **Tuesday, May 3  
** The laptop's screen flickers in the corner of your eye, and you offer a small wave to the side. "Good evening, Dragon. Give me a second or two."

 _"All right…"_ You fiddle with the wires and where to plug them in before shrugging your shoulders and sticking a wire in each of the three holes that make up this port. Perfect Storm will let you know if the initial charging is a recipe for disaster. You only have time to fiddle with another couple of ports before Dragon's curiosity grows too strong for her to contain any longer. _"What are you doing?"_

You point a finger at the radio tube lying in front of you. "You remember the power issue we had the last time we tried to use this to talk to the TSAB? I talked to our Tinker, and he put a generator together for it. Now we can talk with them about whatever we want whenever we want."

The heroine's digital avatar stares dumbfounded at you. _"The Privateers have a Tinker? And he can work with magic? When did that happen?"_

"A couple of weeks ago. He isn't _really_ a Tinker, though. Storm and I gave him a Device loaded up with blueprints and magi-engineering books when we found out he had a Linker Core. I just asked him to build me a generator once he got his workshop set up." Nodding at your handiwork, you scoot over to the blue shell. "I thought I might give the TSAB another call now that we can actually have a conversation with them."

 _"I suppose it is a good thing I finished the first-contact files,"_ Dragon replies with a sigh. _"Anything in particular you plan to discuss?"_

"The same thing we tried to talk about last time we rang them up, I guess. The Endbringers and how the hell we deal with them. It'd be nice if they had to fight the same sort of thing and successfully defeated their own."

 _"I believe the phrase you're looking for is_ 'impossibly convenient' _."_

Probably true, but you'd rather hope for the best. It has worked out for you ever since finding Perfect Storm. But maybe that's just the lingering concussion talking. Your dad and Samantha both told you that you were absolutely, one-hundred-percent barred from any kind of combat this week as a result of your misadventure with MS-13 and their explosives. Not that they have anything to worry about today; after spending the last couple of days charging cartridges, you're worn out.

"Whatever. Are you ready?" Dragon's avatar gives you a single nod, and you reach over to flip the switch. After a second's splutter, the generator gives off a whisper-quiet hum. Huzzah! While you are busy celebrating, fits of blue-white sparks leap out and burst into floating holographic screens. Sure, most of them are filled with data you don't have the first clue how to interpret, but it works! "We're in business now. Storm, call up the TSAB. It's time we have a little chat."

 _"Do you know anything about their culture? Your email did not tell me anything about that, so I was not sure what we did and did not have to include in this briefing packet. I can trim it if I know what they would already find familiar."_

"I don't know much about them, either," you admit. "Storm doesn't remember much at all about the species that built it. I would have told you what I knew if I knew something worthwhile."

A large screen appears, and static flickers for a long moment. What will they look like? Tiny grey humanoids? Dinosaurs? Big fluffy dogs? Any or all of those you can handle, but you're drawing the line at tentacle monsters. The static resolves into a coherent picture. _"TSAB Enforcer Command, Lieutenant Tiburon speaking."_

"…You're human."

 _"Yes…?"_ the man on the other side of the screen says in a slow voice. He doesn't have long ears or ridges on his forehead or even green skin; he's just some white guy in a vaguely military uniform and a black buzzcut! So much for sci-fi movies. _"Who are you?"_

Indecision wages war in your head for a second, but then you take off your hat and mask. This is against all aspects of cape culture, but Tiburon has no mask, and it isn't like they don't already know your name. "Taylor, the mage from Earth Bet who talked to you last month. Hi again."

 _"Earth Bet— Oh! Pleasure to see you finally. Is your power supply stable enough to speak with one of our admirals? He has been hoping to talk to you ever since you first contacted us."_

"S-Sure." Holy crap, an admiral. You thought you would just talk to Tiburon or that other lieutenant you called last time, maybe someone a rank or two higher up. But a full-blown admiral?! These guys do not take first-contact situations lightly, do they?

The screen turns a calming blue with alien symbols scattered throughout, and Dragon whispers, _"This is real. This is really happening."_

"I told you they were real, didn't I? You even heard them talking back to us."

 _"Calamity, this is solid proof that we aren't alone in the universe. Not only that, there are other_ _ **humans**_ _out there. Not aliens that might see us as food. Not monsters that can't understand us and who we can't understand in return. Humans! This is… I can't even begin to express the magnitude of this."_

 _"Miss Taylor?"_ You turn around to find an older man in a more decorated version of Tiburon's uniform sitting at a desk. Strong facial features, a little bit of greying at the temples but otherwise still in his prime. Maybe a little younger than you would have expected an admiral to be, but since military organizations are supposed to be meritocracies, that just means he's very good at his job. _"I am Admiral Dietrich Tucson, Director of the Time-Space Administration Bureau's Enforcer Command. It is a pleasure to meet you at last."_

You swallow. "Ah, nice to meet you, too, Admiral. And this is Dragon," you add while prodding Perfect Storm to throw up a screen next to your head relaying Dragon's video feed. "She's one of our world's greatest heroes and definitely our foremost engineer. She has been helping me figure out how to get ahold of you."

 _"Then allow me to extend our welcome to you as well, Miss Dragon. Now, I hoped we could discuss a few things as we now have a stable connection. Some of the information you gave us the last time we were in contact was disturbing, to say the least."_

Oh, yeah. All you managed to get out last time was that there was a madness-causing monster running around attacking cities. That would disturb anyone. "Sure, absolutely. We actually have an information packet that Dragon prepared, but we can give you the highlights now if you want?"

Tucson nodded, and a picture of the Simurgh replaced Dragon's avatar. _"This is the entity Ca—_ Taylor _called you about last time. We call her or it, depending on who you ask, the Simurgh. She is an incredibly powerful telepath, telekinetic, and precognitive, and she also has the ability to tap into the talents of Tinkers, our world's term for individuals who have a unique understanding of advanced technology. Her best-known and most terrifying talent, however, is a psychic scream that causes anyone who is exposed to it for too long to go insane. That would be enough on its own, but this insanity is directed, turning ordinary individuals into weapons that attack infrastructure and people who either are or are predicted to be important to our society._

 _"She is one of three such monsters, which collectively we term the Endbringers. They attack cities approximately every three months, roughly rotating through their roster. The reasons behind their actions and their goals are unknown. No one has ever managed to meaningfully communicate with them. What we do know is that they do not cease their attacks until they have destroyed whatever city they target or they take enough physical damage that they are forced to retreat and recuperate. Each attack costs hundreds, sometimes thousands of lives."_

 _"Endbringers,"_ Tucson repeats slowly, tasting the word and the hefty meaning behind it. Dragon takes the opportunity to reappear on her screen. _"I will see if we have any records on similar creatures elsewhere in Dimensional Space once you send the briefing packet. As you have already told us that you are the lone mage on your world, Taylor, I presume your own military has been repelling these entities using mass weapons. What kind of effectiveness have you had?"_

 _"None, assuming 'mass weapons' are physical projectiles and explosives."_

 _"Then how…?"_

"Parahumans." Tucson turns his confused expression from Dragon back to you. "That's what we call people who suddenly develop strange and amazing powers. Indestructibility, lasers, advanced technology, teleportation; all sorts of powers are possible. They can't be learned, and they aren't taught. That's been tried and failed. They just appear without any warning."

 _"Spontaneous manifestations of Rare Skills?"_ mutters the admiral to himself. _"How many of these powers are there?"_

 _"How many parahumans? A few tens of thousands over the entire world. A large number, but just a drop in the bucket compared to the billions that make up our total population. How many powers?"_ Dragon shakes her head. _"As many as there are parahumans. Some parahumans' powers share similarities, particularly those that belong to close relatives, but there is always some difference."_

Tucson stares at her, then you, then her again. _"I see,"_ he finally says. _"I must admit that I have never heard of such a thing before, but I would have to consult with the Infinite Library to be sure that it is truly unique. I would recommend you give this information to the Enforcer team, as well."_

"Enforcer team? You sent people here?" That isn't good. You just know people are going to be screaming alien invasion or some such nonsense.

 _"I did. The_ Agharti _, the ship that crashed onto your world? It was carrying a very dangerous magical artifact on board, one that was being brought back to Midchilda – the TSAB's capitol world – for containment. It activated once after being discovered, and it killed the entire crews of two ships and nearly destroyed a third before it was sealed. I sent a team of some of my best to retrieve it before it reactivates."_

You swallow and tighten your hand around Perfect Storm's shaft. Something that dangerous could be running around loose here on Earth Bet? That's a terrifying thought.

 _"When are they planned to reach us?"_ Dragon asks.

 _"They should arrive shortly. The last communication we received from them was two days ago, and they said they would proceed slower than planned because of a strange turbulence in the Dimensional Sea. If you are concerned about the effect their presence could have on your leaders and your populace,"_ he says, correctly guessing the source of their apprehension, _"you can put yourself at ease. My men are quite discreet."_

 _"We might be able to help, then,"_ replies the Tinker. _"I have arranged a short expedition to attempt to retrieve pieces of your ship from the ocean floor. Rather than haul everything up, I will instead limit my retrieval to smaller items and take careful photographs so they can identify this artifact."_

"What? When were you going to tell me you were going to do that?!"

 _"I was going to tell you after we discussed whatever it was you called me about today. It was supposed to be a surprise."_ Her smile is sheepish. _"Surprise?"_

Tucson's lips are quirked from holding back the laugh that clearly wants to come out. _"You two can settle that yourselves, but since you have already made arrangements, I was wondering if you might do us a small favor while you are down there."_ You nod, and Dragon gives him a curious tilt of her head. His smile fades away as he continues, _"After so long in the ocean, finding the crews' remains would be difficult, but I and the TSAB as a whole would appreciate it greatly if you could collect whatever might be personal effects. Anything we can return to their families for burial and remembrance."_

 _"Of course."_

"And their Devices, too, I guess?" you ask in a weak voice. You sound like a child, you know it, but you can't help the fear creeping into the back of your head. "Somebody will want Perfect Storm back, won't they?"

Tucson recognizes your worry for what it is, and he gives you a soft smile as he shakes his head. _"Intelligent Devices have a way of choosing their own wielders. If we so much as thought about trying to take your partner away, every single one of our mages would rise up in revolt not a minute later. Besides, if you can retrieve even a single personal item from the_ Agharti _, everybody who lost a loved one in the crash would be firmly behind you. You have nothing to fear, Taylor. Perfect Storm is yours."_

Dragon and Tucson discuss some of the details of their expedition for a few minutes and Perfect Storm relays the data packet before the admiral signs off. "Hey, Dragon?" you ask when a thought crosses your mind. "Do you want me to ask Shipwright to come along? He's the one learning about magic technology. He might be able to point out what we should leave alone until the Enforcer team gets here." And hopefully he won't freak out when he learns that aliens are real and on their way to Earth.

 _"I suppose it cannot hurt to ask,"_ she agrees. _"If he thinks he can help, then he is welcome to come. I will not hold it against him if he would rather stay in his workshop. We can also deliver anything we find that isn't someone's personal effects to him. I cannot make heads or tails of their technology, but perhaps he can."_

"I'll give him a call, then. Is there anything else you want me to ask him?"

 _"Could…"_ Dragon trails off before shaking his head. _"Never mind. No, nothing at this time. Just let me know if he's coming."_

"Are you—" The screen showing the heroine's face blanks out. "—sure? Hey, Storm? Did that seem weird to you?" A chime comes from the ruby orb. "Yeah, me, too."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	69. Maskless 6-13

**Maskless 6.13**

 **Saturday, May 7  
** The spray from the warm sea breeze dots your face as the ship cuts through the water. You have already contributed just about all you have to offer in the form of Perfect Storm's calculations for where it things the fragments of the _Agharti_ landed. The sailors are directing the ship, Tim is walking Dragon through how to convert a drone taken from her latest Dragonsuit to run off mana, and you are taking the time to sit in the shade of said Dragonsuit's rotors and flip through your emails.

Not that you pay much attention to them. The voice mail your Device told you about this morning weighs heavily on your mind. With a resigned sigh, you close the holographic window in front of you. "Play the message again."

« _Purpose of repetition?_ »

"Because I have no clue what I'm going to do and maybe inspiration will strike if I hear it a couple more time."

The ensuing silence tells you what the i.d thinks of that idea, but finally it relents and begins the playback. _"Hey, Calamity. It's Vista. I got your number from Miss Militia, hope you don't mind. She told me you two talked when you went sewer-diving, and I was wondering why… I mean, I thought maybe…"_ A sigh, the inflection no different from the five other times you heard it. _"I'm just gonna be straight with you. What the hell? I thought you'd give me a call sometime in the last, I don't know, MONTH! Okay, yeah, that first week or two, I wasn't in a good place, and I needed the space, but any time after that? Another story entirely. I could even forgive you with the whole deal about how you were worried about how the PRT would treat you, although even that was silly. Yeah, we messed up. Yeah, I got hurt. It isn't the first time, and it won't be the last. We're heroes; danger comes with the job. And after Militia told me that, I tried to be patient. I really did._

 _"But here's the thing, Cally: I need_ somebody _in my corner who gets what I'm talking about. Flambé, Cherry Bomb? They're nice and all, good kids, but they're still kids. They haven't fought Nazis and Oni Lee and Endbringers. They don't_ get it _like we 're from home, you know what it's like. I know you're older and you'd probably get along with the Protectorate better than a Ward, but you treated me like an equal. Hell, like a friend, and I don't exactly have a lot of those right now—_

 _"Crap. Just— ignore that part, okay? Point is, I'm not upset with you about the thing with Cadejo. I don't think you're responsible. But I am upset that I haven't heard from you, especially since you were asking Miss Militia about how I was doing. If you care that much, you can ask me to my face. Just, call me or something, okay?"_

"I feel sorry for her boyfriends when she gets older. She's going to be downright vicious with her guilt trips."

"Thanks for the commentary, Sam. Maybe if you have time to come up with jokes, you have time to give me a helpful suggestion about what to do," you snap back.

Samantha shrugs, eyes closed as she sunbathes on a lounge chair. "You want a suggestion? I second Vista's motion. You asked Tim to build her a new arm, but you weren't sure how to tell her about it. Seems like this is as good a segue as you're gonna get."

A sailor walks around the other end of the Dragonsuit and gapes for a second – yes, busty raccoon woman in a pink bikini, nothing to see here – before turning to you. "Calamity Witch, we've arrived at the coordinates you gave us. Dragon and Shipwright are waiting for you on the bridge."

It takes a few minutes to find the bridge, and in that time it appears the crew have already tossed Dragon's mini-subs into the water. You look over Tim's shoulder at the grid of computer screens showing the descent to the sea floor. "How long till they reach the crash site?"

 _"At current speeds, two to three minutes,"_ Dragon answers from yet another monitor. _"Hopefully we can recover something from the_ Elitnaya _'s ship."_

You shake your head at that bit of theater. Yes, Tinkertech can look fantastic and futuristic, but Dragon expects the crew to believe an alien spaceship is nothing more than an old battleship a Russian Tinker was playing around with? Maybe you need to rethink your choice of role models, particularly if she can actually pull this off.

Smooth, shining steel soon comes into view. You lean closer while raccoon-form Samantha hops from your shoulder to Tim's so you can both get a better look. This part of the ship was savaged, chunks missing all along its length and its contents scattered far and wide. "What could have done this?" you whisper.

"Maybe the Simurgh didn't like the idea of alien invaders?" Tim answered, joke falling flat. That had been his immediate reaction to learning the truth about his technology, and it had taken some fast talking to get him to stop and listen before flying off the handle. And _then_ you had to convince him not to immediately run to your dad and spill the beans. That revelation was one that was probably better coming from your mouth. Sometime. Eventually.

 _"More likely she had no idea what they could do and did not want to take a chance. Precognition is anything but perfect. If new parahumans can catch precogs off guard, this would definitely be an out-of-context problem, even for her. That's assuming she had anything to do with it. It might have already started breaking up from reentry. Some of the edges of those tears look melted."_

"Sextant is recording all this, right?" Tim nods. Good. Maybe the Enforcer team will have some answers when they finally show up.

 _"Whatever the reason, the hull is so badly damaged that going inside is probably a fool's errand. Our purposes would be better served exploring what was ejected."_ The drones have already split up to comb over the sea floor, and you watch in dismay as it quickly becomes clear that this was the living quarters. Metal footlockers have split open to reveal articles of clothing, uniforms and more casual outfits both. A shiny something mostly buried in the sand turns out to be the corner of a family photo, a young couple with a son, a baby, and a dog smiling in front of a green sunset. Scraps of technology with wires pilling out like tentacles, to damaged to guess at their function. A few trinkets and pieces of jewelry.

"Go back!" exclaims Tim, pointing eagerly at one screen in particular. "There! Pick that up."

 _"You know what that is?"_

"Not one-hundred-percent, but I have a damn good guess. I think it's a Device."

You look at the glassy red card again. "Thinking of giving it to L— our other prospective mage?"

"Give it to her. Take it apart to study it. Feed it to Perfect Storm so it won't have to cannibalize itself next time. I can think of a couple of different things we could do with it."

Dragon is unashamedly watching you, no doubt learning more than you would have told her on your own. It's hard to hold it against her, though, and you have already told her a lot about magic already. As long as she doesn't use any of this against you, you suppose you don't mind too much.

The remote-controlled sub takes a second to fiddle with the Device, but eventually it stuffs the card into its maw to be suctioned up with all the other goodies you have collected on this trip. Someone picks that time to start ringing an alarm bell. "Wonderful," you groan. "What crisis is it this time?"

Dragon's avatar stutters for a few frames before she scowls. _"The Dragonslayers. I had hoped to fly the Sybaris once or twice before they tried to steal its drones, but it seems they have different ideas."_

A blur heralds Samantha's return to human form. "So what's the plan? Get close and beat the shit out of them, or keep them off your suit until you can fly another one over here?" Dragon gives her sarong a doubtful look, and you can only shrug in response. Her normal business suit isn't any tougher, honestly.

 _"It's too dangerous to delay them. The Sybaris does not have much weaponry, but if the missiles are hit, the explosion could still sink the ship. That said, Saint will retreat once their suits take enough damage. For all that they hire themselves out as mercenaries, they are defensive fighters primarily."_

"One tiny problem with that plan." The three of you look at Tim, who in turn points at the monitor. "All the stuff we just picked up. If you fight and the ship gets trashed, everything goes back underwater. Not to mention, I can't exactly fight, and they'll shoot me down if I try to fly out of here."

 _"Perhaps Calamity Witch or Samantha could stay behind to defend you, but that still would leave us without a fighter."_

You sigh. So much for any simple solutions.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	70. Maskless 6-14

**Maskless 6.14**

You look at Tim, at Sam, at Dragon's avatar. Damn it. "We can't lose what we've picked up so far. We need that to give to the TSAB when they show up, and that Device isn't something we should abandon." You shake your head. Like Tim said, there are a number of things you can do with the Device if you decide to be selfish. "But it isn't right to bug out and leave just you to protect the ship and the crew, either—"

" _The crew has nothing to fear. Whenever the Dragonslayers faced me, they were good at keeping collateral damage to a minimum. It's part of what keeps them from being so great a threat that the Guild and the PRT track them down and wipe them out."_

"Okay, that's good, but it's still not a reason to leave you alone fighting the same villains who have made their reputation by beating you and taking your stuff."

Dragon purses her lips but does not refute your statement. Samantha, on the other hand… "No. Calamity Witch, _no_. We aren't playing this game."

"One of us needs to take Shipwright back to base," you remind her. "Either I stay or you stay, and of the two of us, I'm the only one who can fight at range. You'd be stuck going up in melee against three people in power armor and who knows what weapons." You give her a glare and continue, « _Not to mention what happened the last time you acted on your own_.»

« _You mean the time you were so badly hurt you couldn't protect yourself and someone had to keep a bunch of gangbangers from killing you? Do you really think I am ashamed of that?_ »

"No, and that's half the problem. I'm staying here since I'm the one who can fight behind cover. You drag Shipwright and the loot back to base, grab that harpoon of yours, and get back here so you can shove it up their ass."

" _I'm not sure how, but I think I missed part of that conversation,"_ Dragon tells Tim in a perfectly audible aside.

"Don't worry. You get used to it."

« _You'll understand if you ever learn how to make a Guardian Beast,_ » you tell him. "Get a move on, Sam. The more time we waste arguing, the bigger the chance we will lose everything we came here for."

The raccoon-woman grits her sharp teeth, swayed by your logic but clearly not happy about it. "Shipwright. Come on."

" _You should go, too,"_ Dragon says softly. _"The Dragonslayers have defeated me in the past, yes, but not all the time, and they've never been able to find my base. At worst I lose technology I can replace. It isn't worth risking your life."_

"If I had a nemesis who came after me and you had the choice to help me or not, would you turn away?" The digital avatar says nothing and finally shakes her head. "It's the exact same thing. I'm here, and I'm not running away with my tail between my legs just because it's a little dangerous. We aren't heroes because it's safe. We risk our lives every day we put on our masks."

The sentiment is just as poignant coming from you as it was in Vista's email, and the world-famous Tinker sighs before vanishing from the screen. Outside, you hear the Sybaris's rotors warming up. Adjusting your hat, you take a deep breath and walk out onto the deck.

The latest in the long line of Dragonsuits abandons the mold of her previous creations, instead looking like a twin-rotor helicopter instead of the dragon-esque fixed-wing craft the Tinker is famous for. Already it is rising into the air and turning to face three specks in the distance. Perfect Storm's gem gleams; accepting the connection causes a holographic window with Dragon's avatar to pop into existence. "I know you said the Sybaris doesn't have a lot of weaponry," you say, your Device picking up your voice perfectly despite the sound of the engines, "and it's different than your other suits. What did you design it to do?"

" _Stationary defense. That drone Shipwright and I were experimenting on? They latch onto nearby surfaces and give me a 360-degree range of vision for several hundred feet, and the Sybaris can hover in one place and turn to fire at any intruders. I got the idea from Purity's report about your fight with Oni Lee, and it sounded like a good trick to use in an urban warfare situation. I've been wanting to build my own helicopter for a while, anyway,"_ she adds with a sheepish smile.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, you can't help but stare at her. "You asked Purity about that fight? Why? How did you even know about it?"

" _ **I**_ _did not ask her anything. The Protectorate wanted to know how well you knew her since you took such a large risk to save her from being thrown back into the quarantine zone, and they gave her a routine debrief of that fight once she mentioned it. I just requested a copy."_

"I'm not that interesting."

Dragon gives you a look of disappointment and disbelief. _"Calamity, think about why we're out here in the first place. If that does not qualify as_ 'interesting' _, that word must mean something other than what I think it does."_

…Touché.

" _No, the problem here is that the Sybaris is made for urban combat, and this does not qualify in the slightest. It is what we have, though, and we will have to make it count."_

The specks begin to resolve into three suits of power armor, although they are still too far away for you to make out any details. You want to go up and join Dragon in the air, but you know that your ribs are still too damaged to tolerate the exertions of fighting. When twisting wrong can make you gasp in pain, aerial dogfights are out of the question.

Thankfully, you have an alternative. Code spins freely through your mind, and a ball of red light gathers at the head of your staff before shattering into hundreds of sparks. Soon enough another window pops into place in front of you, and you get a beautiful top-down view of your patch of the see before the image tilts to give the region the illusion of depth. You flick it over to the wall at your side and enlarge it so you have more detail to work with. "Mark Dragon's and my locations as areas to avoid, then the Dragonslayers as targets. We don't need to go all-out with our attacks and wind up shooting down our ally."

Now the fun begins. You squeeze the trigger in your mind, and the revolver resting beneath Perfect Storm's head fires once, twice. Magic surges through you and into the glowing green spheres of Rust Shooter. Setting your anti-armor bullets drifting around you in a slow orbit, you turn back to Dragon. "What do the Dragonslayers have in terms of armament?"

" _It depends on which suit they cannibalized for parts. I lost a couple of the early Cawthorne design, as well as the entirety of the Lindworm line. Melusine-Two and -Three, Glaurung-One, Ladon-Zero…"_ She grimaces at your gape of disbelief. Dragon, best Tinker in the world, lost _how many_ of her suits to the Dragonslayers? _"Too many. The point is, they have a variety of weapon systems to use against me. It looks like two of them are Lindworm-derived, maybe Lindworm–Cawthorne hybrids. The third? Probably Glaurung. That tends to be the model Saint prefers. Now instead of launching drones, it fires missiles."_

"Let me deal with the missiles." Are they large enough for Wide Area Search to pick up on them? Only one way to know for sure. "Can you shoot the suits down?"

" _Only one way to find out."_

The Dragonsuits cross Wide Area Search's boundary, and the urge to strike now is almost overwhelming. Somehow you manage to hold back. You need them to get closer. Closer… _Closer_ …

Now!

Streaks of white smoke scream from the boxes mounted on the sides of the Sybaris while the long barrels on the front fire bolts of glowing plasma. One of the two Lindworm suits aims a long tube slung over one shoulder, and a silver cloud rushes out to meet the rockets. A chaff cannon, you realize when the missiles hit and explode harmlessly, or something similar to it at the very least. Saint makes a gesture, and it is only because you are paying more as much attention to Wide Area Search as to the actual scene in front of you that you can see the tiny rockets that are flung from the back of the most distinctive Dragonslayer suit. These missiles are small and agile, and the fact that he is using them against Dragon of all people means they are probably more dangerous then their size implies.

"Too bad you've got me to deal with now." You flick your staff in the direction of the fight, and the Rust Shooters zip off. A dozen missiles collide with half as many magic bullets, but the metal projectiles dissolve like sand before a wave. Another two cartridges, and this time your shots run at the one Dragonslayer who hasn't done anything yet. If they are holding back, it must mean they have some trick worth holding back. You refuse to give them the chance to use it.

The Dragonslayer with the chaff cannon drops from the sky in the path of the Rust Shooters. Fine. Not the one you wanted to take out first, but you'll take what you can get—

Your bullets hit a barrier and pop.

You stare at the Dragonslayer, cold fear dripping down your back. A circle of electric blue script stands between you and him, a pentagram in the middle. The shape is different, but the shape of the characters is achingly familiar. You see them every time you deploy your casting triangle.

Dragon fires energy bolts at the Dragonslayer, but he catches them on his Strong Shield. The revolver chamber flips out and automatically switches out the spent shells for fresh one when your fear turns to burning rage. Epoch was one thing, but he only wanted to impress you. This criminal _dares_ to use magic against _you_?!

Your magic is orange by default. Different spell effects will change the color – Temporal Sludge is purple, Rust Shooter green, Wide Area Search red – but in its raw state it is a bright, happy orange. The bullets that form amidst the rapid-firing cartridges are a blinding white, and the metal floor warps in the face of ten-thousand-degree heat. The non-lethality code is present but strained to the breaking point, and it won't be enough to stop everything when these hit.

You won't kill the Dragonslayers. That doesn't mean you can't make them suffer.

Nearly forty miniaturized suns fly out with screams of hate while you track their progress. They split, ten each heading for Saint and the villain who is even now still hiding in the back. The rest all slam into the actinic Strong Shield, and you can't hold back your victorious snarl when the shield cracks under the onslaught.

You are the heir to Calamity Witch, one of Galea's strongest bombardment mages. It's going to take more than a basic shield to beat you.

Dragon's avatar watches you with a wary expression when the bullets reach Saint and the other guy's suits, but she keeps shooting her energy pulses at them nonetheless. You would think she would be a little happier that you're melting their armor off them. Orange light bursts above their mage, and then Samantha drops onto his back and starts wrestling in mid-air. How did she even know where to go?!

« _Samantha requested coordinates to location where her talents were best utilized._ »

The dueling couple whirl around and around and around before they both flash white. One of them drops from the sky, and the man in armor looks down before flying over to help his teammate.

"Sam!" You can't feel the rail of the ship shatter against your legs thanks to the recent upgrades you worked into your Barrier Jacket, and then all you see is your Guardian Beast's body falling faster and faster. Bouncing off the ocean's surface and ignoring your rids' screech of pain, you race the spray to grab her. "Sam! Wake up!"

Samantha twitches in your grasp for a minute and grunts. « _Diagnostics complete,_ » your Device informs you. « _Vitals stable. High-energy lightning attack. No residual aspected mana._ »

"So not a spell. Just the world's biggest taser." Something strong enough to fry the circuitry in one of Dragon's suits, or more likely to stop a Brute in her tracks. Despite being best known for stealing from Dragon, you need to keep in mind that they are also successful mercenaries. The won't be the first time they have tangled with somebody who could rip them to shreds. You turn to see how well Dragon is handling three Dragonslayers at the same time, but…

You cock your head. That doesn't look right. When facing a ranged fighter, there are two ways to go about it: avoid their attacks, either by dodging or by moving beyond their effective range, or get close enough that they are in more danger from your attacks than you are from theirs. The Sybaris is armored, so the second option should not work, but somehow it is. What's more, the Dragonslayers aren't attacking the unarmed sides as you would have expected. Instead Saint and the mage have taken up positions _in front of the missile launchers_. It would be insane were it not actually working. Dragon keeps trying to back away, but they move alongside her. The third villain is still hanging back and working on something you can't make out until it is too late.

The Sybaris drops like a rock for a moment before stabilizing, and then it turns to meekly follow them as they fly away. What the hell is Dragon doing?!

You watch them fly off while anger roils in your gut. Right now, you want dearly to chase after them, but you have your arms full of unconscious Guardian Beast, and you don't have a great idea for what to do if you do catch up. Just you against the three of them is not the best odds, and that's without considering whatever it is Dragon's doing. If she's doing anything, you realize with a sinking feeling. All of Dragon's technology requires her to interface with it from her home. If they are able to hack the suit…

It explains how they keep beating her, if nothing else.

"Storm, call Tim."

A screen pops up, and the Privateers' pseudo-Tinker sighs when he sees you. _"Thank God. Danny, she's here!"_

Your dad shoves his way in between the screen and the mage. _"Taylor! What happened?! Are you okay?! Where are you?! Did Samantha get there in time?!"_

"Dad! DAD!" He calms down and backs away slightly. "I'm fine. I wasn't in any danger. The Dragonslayers attacked while we were with Dragon, and we tried to hold them back while Sam got Tim to safety."

" _What do you mean, tried?"_

"I mean we tried but failed. We tried to hold them off, but one of them could cast shields, real magic shields, and he tased Samantha when she got the drop on him. They all hit Dragon while I was busy getting to her." You shake your head. "I don't think I've ever seen villains so arrogant in all my life, and I'm including the Empire in that. They stood in front of her missile launchers almost like they were daring her to shoot them while another one hacked her suit."

You know heroes are not supposed to kill, but that display was criminal levels of stupidity. They almost deserved to be shot through with her rockets.

You dad thinks something similar to your own ideas if the look on his face is any indication. Tim, on the other hand, stares at you with widened eyes. _"The First Law of Robotics. How did I miss it?"_ he whispers.

"Huh?" you and your dad ask at the same time.

" _They were playing on her restrictions. But that doesn't make sense unless they know she_ has _restrictions. Oh. Oh, no."_ His face goes pale. _"They've hacked Dragon."_

"I know. I just watched them do it."

" _No, no, no. You don't get it. They hacked_ Dragon _."_

" _Tim, get your head out of the Tinker world and make some sense,"_ demands your father.

Tim looks at both of your for a moment before blowing out a disgruntled puff of air. _"They didn't hack Dragon's suit. They hacked Dragon herself. Some of the things she said while we were talking, some of the ways she approaches problems? I didn't think twice about it then, but I recognize them. They're similar to the logic algorithms Sextant uses. Far more complex, no question about that, but similar, and even more similar to what I've been reading about Intelligent Devices."_ You still have no clue where he's going with this, and he rolls his eyes. _"I can't prove it, but I don't think Dragon is a shut-in or an insomniac or even a human at all._

" _She's an artificial intelligence."_

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	71. Maskless 6-15

**Maskless 6.15**

 **Sunday, May 8  
** The phone rings three, four times before its owner picks up. _"Hello?"_

"Hey, Vista, it's Calamity."

" _About time!"_ You grimace at that, quite glad the younger heroine cannot see your expression. _"Why are you calling on a private number?"_

You flick a glance at Perfect Storm's head. Private number? Is that how your Device managed to keep a phone number without you strictly speaking paying for a phone plan? "Keeps people from being able to call me unless I give them my number. Anyway, that's not what I called about. I was wondering if you wanted to meet up with me somewhere. We have a few things to talk about, and this feels like it should be a face-to-face kind of conversation."

" _Sure! I mean, yeah, alright. Where do you want to meet up?"_

You look around you with a faint smile. "I'm only a few blocks away from the Protectorate office, on the Commerce Square. It's nice and private."

" _Commerce… Calamity Witch, are you standing on top of a skyscraper?!"_

"I'm not _not_ standing on a skyscraper."

" _Fliers, I swear,"_ the girl mutters. _"How about a compromise? You come down to the building across the street, and I'll meet you there, okay?"_

You give her a theatrical sigh. "If you want to take all the fun out of it, fine. I'll see you in a bit." Breaking the connection, you give your hat a firm tug and tip over backwards. The wind whips around, and you enjoy the feeling of free fall for just a little bit. Vista might have a point about fliers, you decide; jumping off the top of a building is not something you ever would have considered doing before finding Perfect Storm. Now that you can fly with all the freedom of a bird or even more, there is something relaxing about falling nine hundred feet without anything attaching you to the world around you.

All too soon you reach the ground. A quick flip sends you straight back up before you cruise over to a nearby building. Vista did not say exactly where she wanted you to go, but perhaps she was more worried about not going up as high as you were. You did not realize she was afraid of heights; you'll have to keep that in mind. Now it's just a matter of waiting for the other heroine.

Space twists a few minutes later and spits out the green-garbed girl. She eyes you and then the building behind you for a moment, almost as if she knows what you did, but rather than hurl out any accusations she just props her right hand against her hip and waits.

She might have to wait for a while. You can't help but stare at the left sleeve that has been cut short and folded over all that remains of her other arm. You knew the doctors working for the PRT had been forced to amputate after the fight with Cadejo, but the intellectual knowledge did not prepare you for the sight of the real thing. This was your fault. It was _all_ on you.

"—mity! Calamity!" You jerk at her yelling your name and stare at her. Her expression softens at the sight of your own. "I'd ask what's wrong, but I have a pretty good idea."

"It… doesn't hurt still, does it?"

She shakes her head and waves the stump around. "Nah, not really. It was never really the pain that was a problem, anyway, more the fact I'll reach out to catch something or pick something up only to remember I don't have that hand anymore. Phantom limb sucks."

"I'm sorry."

You voice was small and weak, but Vista hears it nonetheless. "What are you sorry about? We ran into trouble, and we weren't equipped to deal with it. That's not your fault or my fault or anybody's fault. It just is. The only person I'm pissed off with is Cadejo, and if we had something that could let us beat him, I'd shove it up his butt without a second thought. Besides," she adds with a nonchalant shrug that is obviously faked, "even if you were responsible, you made up for it in spades. I don't remember much after Cadejo… got me, but from what Cherry Bomb and Director Paulson told me afterwards, you flying me back to base is the only reason I didn't, you know, bleed to death out there. So thanks, Calamity Witch. Thank you."

"Not Calamity Witch. Taylor." She blushes at the mention of your real name, and she actually gasps when you take your hat off followed by your mask. Vista starts to reach for her mask in return, but she hesitates, and then she stops completely once you put your hand over hers. "This isn't a tit-for-tat, Missy. But I cost you your public identity. It's only fair that I return the favor, at least to you."

"It… it hasn't been too bad. I don't have to go to school anymore, so that's a plus. I just get tutoring and online classes. I wasn't going to hang up my cape when I turned eighteen, either. The Protectorate was always going to be a full-time thing for me. I can handle losing my secret identity for that. It isn't like I have anyone who knows me from my old life anyway," she trails off.

The last part you have no idea how to answer, and refuse to touch it with a ten-foot pole. The rest, on the other hand, you have a response to, even if it means paraphrasing Samantha and your dad. "It isn't about full-time heroing being what you want or don't want. It's about having options. Now that you look so _'distinctive'_ , for lack of a better word, that option has been taken away from you."

This is the perfect segue for the surprise you and Tim have been planning, but you can't help but feel embarrassed about the offer. Instead you ask, "What about going to Panacea? I know she's in Boston, but wouldn't the Protectorate be able to ask her to make time to fix your arm."

"Have you not paid attention to the news?" Vista asks with wide eyes. "Glory Girl and Panacea were both arrested over a month ago. Somebody recorded Glory Girl beating a mugger almost to death and then calling Panacea to undo all the damage. That would have been bad enough, but then she threatened the guy to try to keep it quiet. It was all over PHO; how did you possibly miss it?!"

You shrug helplessly. "I've been busy."

"Busy. Okay, alright. Anyway, the golden girl of New Wave caught on video stomping all over their moral high ground, and then admitting that this wasn't the first time they did something like that? That was the end for them. The entire group got rolled up in the Boston Protectorate, and Glory Girl and Panacea are on probation in exchange for not going to juvie."

That's all well and good, but you don't see what that has to do with having the Northeast's best healer fix her.

"Because Panacea isn't really a healer," she explains when you voice your confusion. "They tested her power and found out she's a full-on biokinetic. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, but between no one ever saying anything about these beatings and Glory Girl's inability to control her fear–awe aura? The higher-ups are worried that Panacea might be Mastering people involuntarily. From what Gallant told me, she's limited to life-and-death cases only." She shrugs at you. "They had already been arrested when I was hurt, and by the time they let her do any healing, I wasn't anything close to critical."

That's one other option off the table. You take a deep breath and let it out. Okay, Taylor, time to woman up. "You wouldn't mind getting healing, though, would you?"

"No, I'm perfectly happy as an amputee. It's everything I ever dreamed of," she cuts back sarcastically. "Of _course_ I want my arm back!"

"Well, we might be able to help you with that." Vista blinks rapidly in confusion, and you stand up and put your mask and hat back on. Holding out your hand, you ask, "Do you trust me?"

She needs only a moment's hesitation before she slips her hand in yours.

The triangular sigil spin into existence below you, and a curtain of orange sparks rises to wash the world away. Vista looks around the warehouse that is revealed with a curious gaze. "Where are we?"

"Shipwright's workshop. He's the Privateers' fourth empowered member, specifically a Tinker." Which is stretching the truth just a little bit, but now probably isn't the best time to open the can of worms that is magic. You haven't even told your own father the whole truth, which… Okay, that's going on your to-do list.

This week. You'll tell him sometime this week.

"We haven't heard of him before. What's his specialty?"

« _Samantha, tell Tim to mask up. We have a guest._ » Warning given, you pull Vista along behind you. "That's a good question. I don't really know how to put a nice, simple label on him. What's important for you is that he dabbles in bio-Tinkery."

The door in front of you opens, and Samantha pokes her head out. "Oh, good. You brought her."

Vista stares at the sight in front of her. In her defense, you are a little awe-struck, too. When Tim talked about preparing for her surgery, you imagined a tower or drone-looking thing. Instead there is a glass door, and behind it is a full surgical suite ripped right off the television. Taking another glance at Vista's expression, you decide selling her on the idea of letting a strange man cut on her won't be quite as hard as you expected.

And there is the man of the hour himself. "You must be Vista," he says in greeting, giving her a wave as he approaches. "I'm Shipwright, the Tinker for this band of misfits."

"Nice to meet you. Is that…?" She trails off and points at the covered cart standing next to him.

Samantha whips off the sheet, and both of you look down at the prosthetic. The hand and forearm are complete, though they look like something out of a sci-fi movie. The upper arm, on the other hand, is only half-done. "It doesn't look its best," Tim admitted with a sheepish smile, "but I didn't want to make the skin-cover and finish the connections until I had measurements. If I'm going to make a prosthetic, I want it to be right the first time."

"How long would it take to finish?"

"Hm, a couple of days, probably." Vista's eager expression faded only for him to continue, "Thankfully, there's plenty of time for that. The power source runs off the sugar in your blood, so that would need to be implanted in your body. Probably underneath the deltoid muscle, just so there is a good blood supply. Then there is the connection plate at the end of your stump and the recovery from that procedure before it's safe to put that much weight on you. That should all take a couple of days, but so long as you swing by so I can check on it and give your natural healing process a boost, I think you'd be able to have everything hooked up soon afterwards."

The eager gleam is back in her eye, you are glad to see. "So when can we get started?" she asks with all the eagerness of a little girl demanding a pony.

His smile matches hers. "If you can arrange to take a 'personal day', as early as tomorrow. Come in in the morning, we'll do the surgery, let you recover from the anesthesia, then you're out by early afternoon. Check-ups the next three days, and the arm will be ready and waiting for you on Friday."

"I'll be here, too," Samantha adds. "I'm not so good at putting people back together, but I can pass instruments and hold things while he works."

"And you can try talking her into being your personal taxi too," adds Tim in a stage whisper. Ignoring the tongue said raccoon-woman sticks out at him, he pulls his goggles up from around his neck to fasten them around his eyes. "But first, let's get some photos. By the time I'm done, nobody's gonna be able to tell which arm's the real one."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	72. Maskless 6-16

**Maskless 6.16**

 **Friday, May 13  
** Tim carefully unwinds the length of gauze from around the stump of Vista's left arm, and you stare in shock at the sight that is revealed. "You're pulling my leg. There's no way you did surgery on her four days ago."

"He totally did," Vista says with a giggle. The sound matches her outfit; in the jeans and tank top she's wearing, she would look like an ordinary tween were it not for the domino mask.

You don't profess to be an expert on surgery, but you're pretty sure the incisions on her stump should be bright, angry red if not still stapled up. They should not be the faintly pink lines you can just barely make out. Isn't surgery supposed to take weeks to recover from?

"It helps that I have synthetic growth factors to speed up the healing process," the magic Tinker says with a shrug. "I've been doing some reading, and there are actually a couple of drugs in development that should do something similar. They're just, you know, experimental and ungodly expensive to make."

"And you got around that how?"

He gives the three of you – Samantha having settled herself on top of your head like a warm fluffy hat upon your arrival – a boyish grin. "Did you know the fabricator can build proteins one amino acid at a time? Yeah, I was surprised too. All you have to do is pour a meat slurry into the foundry. The percent yield is abysmal, have to say, since then you have to get the proteins to fold the right way, but as long as you separate out the junk and feed it back to the foundry, you can get a workable amount eventually. Speaking of which, I have a few syringes for you to take home with you. One injection every night before bed for the next five days." The girl makes a face at that thought, which earns her a gentle flick on the forehead. "Doctor's orders, Vista. Your arm's healed up enough to safely attach the prosthetic, but the weight is still going to put stress on the incisions. Considering how everything's hooked up, being careless now could damage your nerves and muscles past the point where I can fix them."

« _That's not really that likely, is it?_ » you project to him.

He glances at you for only a moment. « _Likely, no, but certainly possible. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure and all that jazz._ » "Now, are you ready for the main event?"

The heroine brandishes her stump, yellow circles in the titanium plate at the end glowing faintly with her determination. "Do your worst, Doc."

Tim picks up the completed prosthetic. When he told you he planned to cover the entire thing with artificial skin, you expected it to have a plasticky sheen or be just a shade or two off from her skin or have fake-looking nails. Something that upon inspection would mark it as technological. Instead, you have to wonder if he somehow scrounged up her original arm and fixed it up.

The post in the middle of the prosthetic slips cleanly into the hole in the middle of the connection plate and inside her hollowed-out humerus, and he gives it a small twist to align the yellow circles that mark the end of Vista's native nerves and tendons with their counterparts on the prosthetic itself. A quiet whirr, and the ring at the connection point spins around to click in place. "And that's that. Every time you reconnect it, the arm will go through a start-up sequence…"

Vista's new fingers clench in a fist and straighten out again. Her thumb taps the tip of every finger one by one in order. The hand waves back and forth, up and down, and around in a circle. Her elbow flexes to touch her hand against her chest before extending back to its original position. A faint tremor runs through the entire limb, and then it relaxes, losing the stiffness it had laying on the surgical table.

The no-longer-crippled girl brings both her hands in front of her face, and you would not be able to tell which was real and which was fake from how they move. Stepping closer, you give Tim a pat on the back. This right here? This is a job well done.

Vista wraps her right hand around her left wrist and jerks it back with a gasp. "Oh my God, it _feels_!"

"It only feels a little bit," Tim warns. "A narrow range of temperature and pressure. Wider ranges and fine touch, like what you need to tell textures apart, are sadly beyond my abilities at the moment, but I'm working on it."

"So you could upgrade it once you figure out how?" she asks with gleeful greed.

"I could, I guess, but it'd be easier just to build you a whole new arm." Vista stares at him slack-jawed, and he must have guessed what she was thinking because he continued, "Why do you think I installed the reactor and the connection plate into your actual body in the first place? These prosthetics are modular. If you want an arm that gives you enhanced strength or armor plating, I can do it. It won't look like a regular arm, and you won't be able to feel much with it, but there's nothing that says you can't have this arm or an upgraded version for your daily life and a combat-designed arm for patrols."

« _And transhumanism wins itself another convert,_ » Samantha says with a laugh at Vista's ear-to-ear grin.

Thankfully for your peace of mind, the girl's phone starts beeping before she make any demands, and she pulls it out of her pocket. "Shoot. I need to get back to base before my patrol starts." She grabs the short jacket from behind her and pulls it on. With only a moment of hesitation she rushes forward and wraps Tim in as tight a hug as her tiny body can manage, and then she releases him to glomp onto you instead. "Thank you," she whispers into your neck. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_."

You give her a little squeeze in return. "You're welcome, Missy."

Vista finally pulls away and gives you a watery smile. "Sam, do you think you could give me one more ride back? I want to surprise everyone."

Your Guardian Beast hops off to shift back to human form. "Alright, fine. _One_ more time, but after this, I'm charging you air fare."

The pair break apart into orange glitter, and you turn to Tim. "We did good."

"Yeah, we did," he agrees. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my _other_ work. This armor won't build itself, you know."

"I should get back home, too. When did teachers forget the meaning of weekends?" you say with a short laugh as you walk to the door.

"About that." You slowly turn your head to stare at the suddenly sheepish Shipwright. "It might be a good idea to bump that down the list a ways. Danny's waiting for you in my break room."

"…Why?"

"Samantha mentioned you were having some trouble with how to tell him about the whole magical alien thing." The burgeoning magi-engineer takes a step backwards at the sight of your twitching eye. "A-And I just thought, hey, might as well rip it off like a Band-Aid before it gets any more complicated than it already is, what with a bunch of aliens coming to Earth to pick up their UFO and all their tech and maybe do a little research on what Earth's like and—"

You spin on your heel and storm out. There was such a thing as _'too helpful'_ , and Tim stepped square in it. You were going to tell your dad about this on your own terms, at your own time! Yes, you promised yourself on Sunday that you were going to tell him about everything this week and it's currently Friday, but you have time to meet the terms of your decision. And even if you wind up not telling him this week but next week or the one after that, that would be just fine!

Better, maybe, since you're going to need a lot of luck for this conversation, and Friday the thirteenth is not a day for luck.

Turning a corner, you stumble to a halt when you see your dad lying in wait. A glance behind you lands on the door to Tim's break room. Wasn't he supposed to be waiting in there?

"Whenever your mom got riled up about something, everyone knew it," he says with a faint smile. "It never took long, either. Annette didn't care if it meant making a scene in the middle of a lecture hall or taking a swing at a cop with a fire extinguisher, she leaped into action without a moment's hesitation. Personally, I never liked confrontation, whether that was bar fights or telling a long-time dockworker we had to let him go, although I've had to learn how. I'm sorry you picked up the worst from both of us."

"Dad, now's not really the best time—"

"It has to do with why you wanted Tim to build you that generator, doesn't it? Something to do with whoever made Storm?" Whatever rebuttal you had in mind dies in your throat. "I may be a shitty father, Taylor, but I'm not blind. Not stupid, either, even if I'm glad you inherited your mom's brains instead. You've been walking on eggshells ever since he brought it over. Even before that, really, and you said you needed the extra power for something." He watches you carefully for a long moment before sighing and nodding to himself. "So I'm thinking whatever Tinker built Perfect Storm got in touch with you, didn't he? Maybe he dropped a few hints about how with all the trouble you've gotten yourself into with his creation, it's only fair that you do a couple of favors for him in return. The first one or two was no big deal, but now you have a bad feeling about what you've gotten yourself into but don't know how to get yourself out.

"How am I doing so far?"

You just stare at him. What the hell? For all that he was on the right track at first, he's stumbled off somewhere in the middle of the proverbial woods. Worse, if you refuse to answer, he will keep thinking you are in the middle of some kind of shadowy conspiracy of intrigue and double-dealing. The truth that you're talking to space wizards might actually be the better option! "Okay, maybe we better talk about this after all."

Tim's break room is not much, just a tiny room that probably was a break room when this was a working warehouse that he has refurbished for the Privateers that show up occasionally to help him with the heavy lifting or just to kill some time. Both of you eschew the pot of coffee, knowing from personal experience that he likes it strong enough to give a hippo a heart attack, and instead sit in a couple of chairs set across from each other. Your dad seems to have said his piece and now is waiting for your reply.

« _Hey, Sam? Get your fluffbutt over here. This is your mess, now you get to help clean it up._ »

« _Taylor, you're breaking up… Sshzzt… Bad connection… Sshzzt… Talk later! Sshzzzzzzzzt._ »

« _SAMANTHA!_ » Your teeth grind before you spit out, "Bitch hung up on me."

"O…kay…?"

There really isn't a good way to explain this away, is there? You sigh. Surely keeping him in the dark for just a little longer couldn't be bad, could it? But no, that's no longer an option. "You're part-right. Yes, it has to do with why I needed the generator. Yes, I have spoken with people who are loosely affiliated with Storm's creators. No, they haven't threatened me. They haven't even asked me to do much, just pick up some of their stuff so they can take it back. I'm not in any trouble or danger or anything like that."

He throws up his arms in frustration. "Then why are you working so hard to keep everything a secret? Tim wouldn't even tell me what it was all about, just said I needed to get the story from you."

"Because the truth is completely crazy. Dragon honestly thought I was insane when I told her, and it took a hell of a time to convince her otherwise." Trying to convince Tim wasn't much better, though having firsthand experience with magic helped. Taking the plunge, you say, "I told you I found Perfect Storm. That was true. I thought it was Tinkertech at first, but then I figured out what it really was. Dad, Perfect Storm isn't from Earth Bet, or any Earth at all. It's from outer space."

"…Uh-huh."

"I'm not lying! Think about it. You saw Perfect Storm unfold into that huge machine to make Sextant. If a Tinker could make something that can make more of its own kind, don't you think everyone would have heard of them? Sure, only five percent of people could use them if Storm's estimates are right, but one-twentieth of a big city? A _country_? There's no way that could be kept secret. If Storm exists but no one has ever heard of it, it makes sense that there's something else going on. Plus we kinda maybe found the ship it came here on. What was left of it, anyway," you add with a shrug.

He watches you carefully. "You expect me to believe you found an alien spaceship and stole a piece of technology, all so you could be a hero."

"I didn't steal anything. From what Dragon, Tim, and I can tell, the ship broke up in the atmosphere. Maybe it came out of hyperspace or whatever and they didn't realize there was a planet in the way. Who knows? It looks like the ship broke apart, and Perfect Storm was one of the few pieces that didn't sink in the Atlantic. I went looking for the ship first, and then I called in Dragon to help since all the pieces are on the bottom of the ocean where people can't go. That's where we were last weekend: picking up personal effects and stuff for them." And you will make sure to tell Tim that as far as your dad is concerned, that was all you were doing. Any and all knowledge of dangerous magical artifacts is need-to-know, and your dad doesn't need to know.

"That's the second time you said you were collecting things for them," he cuts in suspiciously. "For the sake of argument, I'll pretend I believe this and that somehow you managed to talk to these aliens of yours. Why would you spend your time picking up their trash—" You can see him make the connection. "Taylor? Did you invite aliens to come to Earth?"

"' _Invite'_ is a bit of a strong word. It's more like the admiral I talked to said they were sending a team to sweep up everything before anyone else found out about it and messed around with technology beyond their comprehension. I just said I'd lend a hand." That sounds better than the truth.

Your father stares at you in disbelief before hanging his head. "Aliens crash-landed on our planet, and you're helping them with a _military cover-up_. I wish I could believe you were making this up, but I don't think I can. You don't have that good an imagination. Holy shit." Looking back up, he hits you with a glare. "Taylor, were you thinking _at all_?!"

Oh, what the hell is he mad about now?!

"Aliens come to earth, and ten years later small groups of humanity are hiding at the fringes of civilization trying to strike back at their enslavers. It's the plot of every bad sci-fi movie ever. Except you didn't just tell a bunch of aliens where they can find us, you told _alien military_. Why in the world would you think helping them was a good idea?"

"Dad, they aren't going to come here and enslave us," you grunt. "They just want their stuff back. It was apparently a military transport ship, so yeah, the first people I could reach on the radio was their military. Nothing sinister about that. Besides, they have video chat. I saw what they look like. They aren't even real aliens, they're humans."

He scoffs. "Sure, because human military dictatorships are so much better. Just ask the people living in North Korea or Nazi Germany or basically all of Africa."

"You don't know they're a military dictatorship!"

"And you haven't given me any reason to believe they aren't!" He is on his feet now, and you pop up to stare eye-to-eye with him. "Prove me wrong, Taylor. Tell me what you know about your aliens."

"They aren't my aliens. They just are. They're part of a group called the Time-Space Administration Bureau. Storm thinks they're from Molse or Katar or some planet like that. All they want is to reclaim the personal effects from the crew that they can send back to their families," you add when he doesn't look convinced. Maybe you should know a little bit more about the TSAB before you try to talk them up. "Besides, Dragon was right there when I talked to them, and _she_ doesn't have a problem working with them."

"What Dragon thinks is a good idea or a bad idea isn't my responsibility. Keeping you out of trouble is. I don't want you talking to them again, do you understand me?"

Is he… honestly trying to ground you? About something on _this_ scale? Fuck that. "Just try to enforce that, Dad," you whisper. "I dare you. See how that goes. This is bigger than you, bigger than the Privateers. You don't get to dictate terms to me about this."

He is standing now, trying to loom over you, and you pop up to your feet as well. "I can and will dictate terms when you're about to make a mistake that will ruin your life and everybody else's too!"

You laugh in his face. "Because you're just the king of good decisions, right?! You wouldn't know a good decision if it bit you in the ass! I'm the only one here who has a clue what they're doing!"

"You don't know what you're doing at all! You're jumping on this without any consideration for anyone but you because you want to feel special! You don't get to hurt everyone around you to satisfy your selfishness!"

"You don't get to talk down to me about being selfish!" you scream back. " _I'm_ not the one who threw _you_ away just to fix a fucking ferry!"

Your father wears a red mask of rage, and your panting breaths are just as heated. Your hand hurts from how tight you are squeezing Perfect Storm's staff, even though you can't remember transforming at all. He is the one who finds his words first. "How much of you is my daughter, and how much of you is that _thing_ around your neck?"

"That you have to ask says everything that needs to be said. You still don't know anything about me at all, do you?"

You swing your staff, and he steps out of the way with his hands bunched into fists. You don't plan to fight. The orange of Spatial Translocation washes over you and sends you into the star-studded sky above a dark sea. In the silence, hot tears stream down your face.

Of course he doesn't give a shit about you. He hasn't for years. Did he ever, or was his love only for your mom?

« _Mistress…_ »

Lifting the staff, you stare into the soft glow of the orb at the head. "You won't abandon me, too, will you?"

« _Never. Perfect Storm belongs to Mistress alone._ »

You press the gem against your cheek and squeeze your eyes shut. That's better than nothing.

* * *

 **So that's clearly been festering for a while! I'm thinking maybe the Heberts just aren't meant to talk to each other. Crap…**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	73. Maskless 6-v

**Maskless 6.v**

 **Friday, May 13**

Vista carefully opened one eye and then the other once she knew for sure the teleportation-related light-show was over. She had no idea how Calamity Witch and Samantha managed to use their abilities without blinding themselves all the time, but she had been left blinking purple spots out of her eyes the only time she looked at all the orange. She had no intention of repeating that experience.

"Are you going to stick around this time?" she asked Samantha, waving towards the Protectorate building across the street from them. She had little hope that the answer would be 'yes', but she felt the need to ask. She would never admit it, but she was actually kind of bored. Had been for the last few weeks. There was a kind of… not tension, really, but more a general sort of tiredness in the Wards now that they were all off-duty for the foreseeable future. The three adults in the Protectorate were busy dealing with Typhon's creations, going so far as to team up with Winter Hill and Fairyland for an exploration of the storm sewers the mad bio-Tinker had holed up within, and while none of them would go into detail about what they had faced underground, their careful silence and the continuing Truce said all that needed to be said.

That was part of the reason she gotten so frustrated with Calamity Witch, to tell the truth. Aside from a few Console shifts, she had absolutely zero to do. Stuck inside as they were, she was also discovering she had even less in common with Flambé and Cherry Bomb than she thought. They were all teenaged heroes, but they still saw themselves as teenagers first and heroes second. She had been a hero first and foremost since she was eleven. Now that she no longer went to school, even that shared connection had withered away.

Hanging out with Samantha and Calamity was fun, and if they wanted to spend time at headquarters, that was even better. Not that she was trying to lure them closer so they'd join and she could spend every day with them, not at all.

The raccoon-woman shook her head. "Not today. I need to make myself scarce. I kind of told Shipwright to get in touch with Taylor's dad so they can hash something out, and she isn't going to be happy with me for a little while."

"Why would Shipwright call Calamity's dad—" A couple of old rumors on PHO about the older girl's love life came to mind in a whole new light. "Wait, is her dad _Captain_?"

"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies," Samantha sing-songed. "All I'll say is she's been ignoring the nudges I've given her all week, so I wanted them to finally _talk_ about this. I shouldn't need to do all the work for them and be their intermediary all the time." The woman winced. "That was quick. Yeah, no, not getting in the middle of that. There's no reason you two can't sit down and have a reasonable conversation for once. Well, Vista, I think that's my cue to skedaddle. Don't forget these."

Samantha reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a cluster of short syringes, and with a grimace Vista took them. She did not like shots, so sue her. Once the other heroine vanished in another burst of orange light, she turned back to Headquarters. On the downside, no hanging out with some of her favorite people; on the upside…

She glanced down at her new arm – her _new arm_! – and stifled the desire to giggle. Calm down, Vista, calm. She didn't need to act like a little girl with a new toy, no matter how much she was thinking about passing along a request to Shipwright for a combat arm stuffed to the gills with all sorts of 'toys'. But not immediately, no. Best to wait a couple of weeks so she didn't sound ungrateful for what he already gave her.

For now, though, it was time to enjoy just having two arms and the reactions she was soon to get. She found the window of her room, the window cracked open for this very reason. Grasping the distance between the window and the rooftop where she stood, she squeezed it tight until the window was right in front of her. The gap between window and sill stretched, between sill and ground vanished, and she hopped the short distance through the six-foot-high opening onto her floor. A mental blink let space return to normal.

She set the syringes on her dresser next to her mask before leaving the room and walking down the hall to the common area. Because there were so few heroes in the Philly branch, only three adults and now three Wards with Bouncer still a runaway, they were more integrated than they had been in Brockton Bay, with everybody sharing the same space for group activities like debriefs and patrol planning. It helped that Chevalier was far more interested in training the Wards than Armsmaster had ever been. Skipping despite herself, she grinned when she saw all five resident heroes present. Excellent.

"Hey, everybody," she said, waving her arm in greeting. Her left arm. "How are things going?"

"V-Vista?!" Cherry Bomb squeaked. "What is that?! What happened to your arm?!"

Bringing her right arm up, she made a show of looking it over. "What do you mean, what happened? It looks fine to me."

"Your other arm!"

"Oh. _This_." She snapped the fingers of her left hand and smiled appreciatively at the sound. "Sorry. Completely misunderstood what you were talking about."

Miss Militia marched over and grabbed her hand, and she understood what Shipwright meant about a narrow range of sensation. It looked like Miss Militia was squeezing tight now, but she could not feel a difference from when the older heroine first grabbed her. Frowning in confusion, Miss Militia took hold of her right hand. "This isn't skin. What is it? Take off your jacket."

"Miss Militia!" she gasped, trying to hold back her inner Dennis and failing miserably. "You want me to take my clothes off? There are _boys_ around."

"Vista. Jacket. Off."

Fine, fine. She pulled her jacket off and tossed it over a chair, and then she held up her arm so everybody could bask in its artificial glory. Miss Militia did not appear to care, unfortunately, but she let the gunslinging hero poke and prod while she entertained herself by flexing her arm and watching the synthetic bicep bulge. Only when Miss Militia was about to fiddle with the dark grey ring of the connector plate did she pull away. "Cool, huh?"

"Not quite the word I would choose." Still holding her hand, Miss Militia pulled her into the mostly unused conference room and shut the door. "Missy Kaye Biron, where did you get this?"

Uh-oh. Full name, not good. The explanation came pouring out before she could stop herself. "A Tinker named Shipwright. He's part of the Privateers. You know, Calamity Witch and Samantha's group? Calamity wasn't talkative about just what his specialization is, which makes me think it's a little broader than just cybernetics, but anyway she asked him to build me a new arm because she felt guilty about me getting hurt in the first place so he did and then he put it on just today."

"That much I can see for myself, but what concerns me are these." Miss Militia points at the surgical scars running along what was left of her upper arm. "You didn't get these today."

"Well, no. Those are from Monday. Something has to power the arm, so while he was doing the reinforcement work he also installed the reactor."

"Monday? Reinforcement? Wait, _reactor_?" Miss Militia did not seem to know where to start, and she spluttered for a moment before, "Hold up. One thing at a time. What do you mean, reactor? You let an unknown Tinker install a reactor in your body?"

Vista rolled her eyes. "He explained how it worked to me before he put it in. All it does is burn up sugar to make electricity. It's perfectly safe, and other than making me hungry, I don't even know it's there."

Miss Militia dropped her head into her hands for a long moment, and when she looked up again she was wearing what all the Brockton Bay Wards had called her Mom-face. The one where she scolded them in that disappointed tone until they felt so guilty about their actions that they promised they would never again split away from their patrol partner or talk bad about Piggy under their breath in front of visiting Protectorate heroes or eat the last slice of triple chocolate cake. Vista pulled up all her stubbornness in preparation. She would not be made to feel an inch tall over this!

"Missy, do you remember all the trouble Chris went through to get his projects approved?"

"Yeah…"

"Those rules aren't in place to make Tinkers' lives harder. There is a reason for them. Tinkers have all these ideas in their heads, and they know how every device is supposed to work. What most of them don't realize until later is that knowing how something's supposed to work doesn't mean they know all the ways it can fail or what will happen when it does. Not even Hero was immune to having his designs break down in ways he never expected." Miss Militia reached out to lay her hands over Vista's new hand. "All those risks are even bigger when you start talking about somebody _surgically implanting_ an _energy source_ into your body. If that fails, there's no way we would know until you got incredibly sick or even died. We need to test it to make sure it's safe."

Vista knew what those words meant, and she jerked away out of Miss Militia's reach. "Uh-uh. No way, no how. Not gonna happen." She cradled her arm to her chest, her right arm protectively wrapped around it. "I just got my arm back. You aren't taking it away again."

"Calm down, Missy," Miss Militia said in a low, soft voice. "I'm not saying we're going to take it away. Just let me call some of the Tinker testers from Boston, maybe Armsmaster as well, and then we can put it through its paces. We could even invite Shipwright so he could explain what it does and how it does it. Then we would know for sure that it's safe. That's all I'm asking, okay?"

That was… less than terrible. "I… maybe. But you aren't getting my arm while you're calling everybody. It stays on me. And I want Shipwright there before you do anything. Armsmaster can't fix it if he screws up."

"That's doable, but I want a promise in return." There was the Mom-face again. "If we test it and it isn't safe, I want you to promise you won't make a fuss about giving it up. The arm, the reactor, it all comes out."

"Only if Shipwright agrees!" she added immediately. Everybody knew Armsmaster had a gigantic stick up his butt about being shown up by other Tinkers. She was not going to lose her arm just because he got in one of his moods.

"If there's something wrong, I expect Shipwright will be the first one to say we need to do something about it," Miss Militia agreed soothingly.

That was probably as good as she was going to get, she realized with a sigh. "Alright, I guess. How long is this going to hang over my head?"

"From what Armsmaster told me, there is likely to be another Endbringer attack soon. Tinkers always submit more proposals right before and right after an attack, so give it a week or so after that before we can bring everyone together. That's still a lot of time for something to go wrong," added the older heroine slowly. "Are you sure you want to risk that?"

She nodded decisively. Was there a chance something could go wrong? Of course there was. She had been there for the times Chris's tech crashed and burned. Shipwright had been so confident in his project, though, that it was difficult to think he had made a mistake. Him, Calamity Witch, Samantha… There was something different about them, something she could not put her finger on. All she knew was that she wanted to believe them.

"If you're sure," Miss Militia sighed. Stepping closer, she pulled Vista into a loose hug, and despite herself the girl relaxed into her arms. "You know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, right? I'm just worried about you."

"…I know."

* * *

 **Meanwhile, later that night Samantha stares at her family and thinks, "I leave you two idiots alone for five minutes, and you're screaming at each other!" Danny, maybe you need to call up Miss Militia for some tips on how to communicate with teenage girls.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	74. Maskless 6-x

**Maskless 6.x**

 **2011\. 05. 14. 11. 16. 23. 456**

"… _so it shouldn't be too much of a problem."_ Calamity Witch's – Taylor's – smile was more a feral bearing of her teeth, the expression oddly suiting her considering her one and only presumably magic-bio-Tinker creation. _"Normally I'd ask Shipwright to keep it safe, but right now I don't know that I trust him not to mess with it."_

"I'm sorry you are having difficulties with your teammates," Dragon said honestly. Especially if Captain were Taylor's father as she expected. Finding one's own father a stifling, crippling influence… She understood that scenario more than she could safely explain to the girl. "If you need somewhere else to store the radio, just let me know. It would not be difficult for you to come to one of my warehouses when you want to use it."

" _Thanks for the offer, but I think it's fine where it is for now. Sorry to cut things off, but I need to get to some other stuff for a little bit. Talk to you later?"_

"Of course." The video stream cut out, and Dragon mused for a moment on the conversation. Taylor had been very open about things in their previous chats, but today she seemed almost almost hesitant about revealing exactly where she had moved their lone connection to the TSAB, almost as if she had doubts about telling even her. Was it just a young hero losing her idealistic naivety, or had Taylor's trust in her been shaken after her defeat by the Dragonslayers?

As much as she would like to ruminate on that question some more, the unexpected call had distracted her from her other routine tasks. She had just checked on the Endbringers, so next on her list were the other S-class capes.

Sleeper was still in the rustic homestead in middle of the depopulated circle of Russia now known as the "Mordovian bubble". By the fact that Russia still existed, she could assume he was still asleep. Best he stay that way.

The Ashbeast was wandering around the Saharan desert as per usual.

The Three Blasphemies were somewhere in the Netherlands, though what they were doing and exactly where they were was difficult to determine. Their discontinuous movements meant Frown was likely the one calling the shots right now, as much as any of them could said to be the leader.

She examined the satellite footage of the newest S-class with interest as he wandered the ice fields of the Arctic Circle. Nidhogg, once named the Butcher and Lung. He had shrunk some from the size he attained during his escape from Brockton Bay, but he was still twenty feet long and quadrupedal. After thirty days, the PRT and Guild had decided that the previous Butcher's voices truly did count as 'conflict' to his own powers, and in that case it was unlikely he would ever return to human form. In a way, it was pitiable, but it also made some things easier. So long as he was so obviously monstrous, he could not lead the Teeth as the other Butchers had, and where he was the only things he could harm were seals and whales and polar bears.

Even Narwhal had been agreeable to let him wander unmolested for now, though the Amazon woman had joked that her attitude would be different were he at the South Pole instead. There were no penguins in the North.

Those were the major threats, and she referred to her list again. Her attention skimmed the list of waiting tasks to the single line she had bolded, made 72-point in size, and even set up on a macro to cycle through different colors every 0.42 seconds while the file was open. The same task she had steadfastly ignored for weeks now.

 _Reveal TSAB to the PRT._

Dragon reset the monitoring cycle for her Tin_Mother bot, thereby refreshing her list of recent PHO bans. Most of them were mere annoyances, but she had an entire file that contained nothing more than particularly amusing posts from the different fora. Right now, though, she did not want entertainment. This was just busywork to keep from feeling guilty.

She should tell the PRT about the approaching spaceship and the honest-to-god _magicians_ aboard. If the TSAB could be convinced to ally themselves with Earth Bet's heroes, the possibilities about what they could do together were staggering. An entire interstellar army of high-tier capes fighting the Endbringers, destroying them even. The S-classes hunted down and eliminated. Gangs captured or dispersed. Villains hanging up their masks or switching sides because there was no way they would ever be able to fight against the newly swollen forces of law and order. It was… It would be…

…a utopia.

And it was for that reason that she had held back. Utopian dreams rarely, which meant never, worked out how they were intended. The actual result was generally the exact opposite. Yes, the U.S. and Canadian governments, all the governments of the world technically, had the right to know about aliens making their way towards Earth, but what they would do with that information was unlikely to be to the benefit of meaningful collaboration. Taylor's explanation of Captain's reaction to finding out the truth was proof of that.

The power of the mages, too, would pose a problem. All she had to do was look at Taylor's latest threat ratings to know that was the case. Blaster 8*, which was really just a Blaster 9 or 10 who happened to be a hero. Mover 10. Shaker 6. Brute 5. Any one of those could be a problem under the right circumstances, but together they made for a cape who could compete with the entire Triumvirate at their prime and have a good chance of winning. That was without whatever the appropriate Master/Tinker rating was for creating a sapient being with powers of her own and the Trump/Tinker rating for granting another person a similar variety of abilities. One such individual the PRT could work with. A strike team of a dozen people not so much, let alone the tens of thousands to possibly millions the TSAB had at their beck and call. Depending on how large the Bureau's reach was and how many inhabited worlds there were, a military force to rival the population of _continents_ was all too easy to imagine.

Dragon told herself that she was trying merely to avoid needless loss of life, but deep down she knew she was lying to herself. That might be her motivation were she flesh and blood; she hoped she was the kind of person who would do that. But she wasn't flesh and blood, was she? She was circuits and bytes, an artificial intelligence. Just like aliens, AIs were a classic enemy of humanity in books and movies, so she supposed she felt a sort of kinship to the TSAB from the start, but even that was not her real motivation.

The simple fact was that being an AI on Earth Bet was risky. If the truth ever came out, she would be considered a _thing_ , to some a tool to be used until she broke and to others nothing more than malware that needed to be scrubbed from her servers.

What about the TSAB? Taylor treated Perfect Storm as a partner, and if Admiral Tucson was to be believed, that degree of attachment was common enough that trying to interfere with that relationship would cause an immediate and overwhelming uprising within their own ranks. Admittedly, that did not mean Devices were considered people in their own right, but the TSAB should be more open to viewing a digital sapient as an equal, and Dragon knew she was far more advanced than Perfect Storm. Would that be enough to be granted the rights of a person, be offered citizenship with all that entailed?

She did not know. She did not know, but she was willing to roll the dice. Andrew Richter, her creator and father, had built her in an attempt to create the most human-like program he could, and he had succeeded. She was complex enough, human enough, to have some degree of selfishness. On Earth Bet her true nature was a shameful secret, but if there existed even the possibility that the TSAB would let her be who she truly was without fear, she knew whose side she was on. Worst case scenario, she was kept as the military's pet or deleted, and she ran those same risks on Earth. She had nothing to lose but so much to gain.

Electrons flowed aimlessly for a nanosecond, the equivalent of taking a breath to steady her mind, and she erased the offending line in her to-do list. Telling anyone the truth about the TSAB would risk a war, and war was something to be prevented at all costs.

Particularly if there was the slightest chance Earth Bet might win.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	75. Meltdown 7-1

**Meltdown 7.1**

 **Sunday, May 15**

Perfect Storm buzzes like a hive of bees against your chest, and you pull it out with a little sigh of relief. You can't predict what distraction this is going to be, but whatever it is, anything is better than yet another stilted, awkward breakfast shared with your father, no different from all the other interactions since your mutual blow-up on Friday. A holographic window pops up to display Miss Militia's name. That's interesting; normally when you talk to her, it is entirely telepathic. Does Perfect Storm want everyone at the table to hear the conversation?

No sense wondering when you can find out, you suppose. "Hey, Miss Militia. What's up?"

" _Calamity, I need you to get in touch with Samantha and Captain and bring them to headquarters. Behemoth's on the move."_

Did you say anything would be better? You meant anything _except_ an Endbringer.

"Where?"

" _Armsmaster and Dragon's software puts his appearance near Kharkiv, Ukraine. We have between five and twenty minutes before he pokes his head out. This is the first time we've ever been able to preempt them, and that's an opportunity we can't waste."_

Ukraine? All the reading you did following the Simurgh's attack on Brockton Bay indicated that the Endbringers normally target areas that have something they want to destroy, something that would cause more problems than just their appearance themselves. Guessing Leviathan's targets is hit or miss, and no one bothers with the Simurgh, but Behemoth is usually pretty obvious. "What would he be after in Ukraine?"

" _Kharkiv is a city of 1.5 million people. Besides killing them, no idea. We're moving out in three minutes."_

"Samantha, can I get a ride to our base?" your dad asks once you close the screen. You can't help but notice him intentionally not look in your direction. "I need to tell the guys they'll be on standby, too."

"Sure. Meet you at the PRT, Taylor?" You give her a small nod, and the Guardian Beast lays a hand on his arm before they vanish. Alone now, you lean back into the chair and sigh. Of all the times for this to happen, it has to be when you're already worrying about the Beasts and the TSAB and the Dragonslayers…

Your eyes fly open while your mouth twists in irritation. "Damn it!"

When you last called Dragon, you gave her a number of hints about where you had hidden the radio you salvaged from the _Agharti_. Not the actual address of the warehouse, but she had enough information that she or anyone else could find it with minimal searching. She knows it has no defenses beyond obscurity and the fact no one would look for it. If someone did, there would be nothing stopping them from taking your one line to the TSAB.

You still feel bad for lying to her about that. The radio is actually in Tim's possession, and you gave the magi-engineer a stern warning that he was not to give it to your dad or to take it apart to see how it worked. The building is just someplace you know has been abandoned and lays empty, which makes it the perfect place to set a trap for the Dragonslayers.

After thinking about it, any doubts you had about the Dragonslayers hacking Dragon were put to rest by the memory of one of them using a magic shield. This was not a hesitant levitation or a relatively simple Shooter spell. Stable shields are more complicated, and that Dragonslayer conjured one strong enough to block your Shooter spells and that used the same script as your own spells. You could not figure out how they managed that, but finally you remembered the books you sent Dragon about magic, the ones she could not make heads nor tails off. If the Dragonslayers can hack her, they have access to the information, and all they would need then is somebody with a Linker Core to get a basic spell to work even if they don't have a Device to handle the bulky calculations.

That leaves just one very important question. Why did they attack you in the first place? Were they after the Sybaris? It would not be the first time they went after Dragon for one of her suits, and that was the assumption Dragon made. The timing, though, that's the worrying part. The only reason Dragon was there was to pick up the mementos of the crew aboard the _Agharti_ , and you know they are interested enough in magic to learn it. Could they have been after the TSAB's technology? It was only after Samantha teleported in that they focused on Dragon; did they realize she had already moved everything you found to safety and so went after their consolation prize?

You have no way to know, and that is why you baited your trap as you did. If the Dragonslayers really were only after the Sybaris, they won't care where you stashed the radio. If, on the other hand, they want magic, you'll know once they hit the warehouse to take the radio. A nice, neat plan if you do say so yourself.

Until Behemoth smashed it all to pieces. You were going to leave Wide Area Search in place over the building, feeding it a trickle of magic while Perfect Storm monitored the readings. You can't afford to split your attention or your mana if you fight an Endbringer, though, and you would trust the Dragonslayers to honor the Truce as far as you can throw one of their suits. This is the best time for them to go after the radio, but you won't be there to see them or stop them.

Not unless you stick around.

Guilt nibbles at you when you consider that possibility. If you stay in Philly, you can keep an eye out for the Dragonslayers, or if you really need to do something, you can hang out with the Privateers in case something else happens instead. The Beasts could attack or a new gang could try to muscle their way in. Such a thing is unlikely in the extreme, but that isn't the same as impossible. Unfortunately, if you work with them there is a good chance you won't be able to slip away in time should the Dragonslayers make their move.

To be completely honest, you also aren't convinced how much help you'll be against Behemoth, anyway. You use magic, but your powerful offensive spells take the form of fire and radiation. How useful you'll be will depend on whether the world's most powerful dynakinetic treats Flare Shooter or Solar Wrath or even Ragnarök as magic or nuclear fire at the end of the day. All you can say for sure is that you should be safe from his attacks in return. Probably.

Hopefully.

You scratch your head and think furiously. Becoming a hero was supposed to make your decisions _easier_ , blast it!

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	76. Meltdown 7-2

**Meltdown 7.2**

A long, long minute passes as you try not to admit your answer to yourself, but you know you need to make your decision. All prevaricating will do is waste time, time you don't have.

It isn't heroic, it isn't brave, but the fact remains that there is nothing special you can offer in this Endbringer fight. Search and rescue? They have other capes who can do that just as well as you can. Healing? You don't have a spell for that. Direct attack? A shiver runs down your spine. The last thing anyone needs is for Behemoth to gobble up Solar Wrath, or God forbid Ragnarök, and throw it back at the assembled capes.

If this were Leviathan attacking, or if you didn't have another pressing matter like the Dragonslayers, you wouldn't need to make such a selfish decision. But it isn't and you do. Besides, you tell yourself, this is the best chance to get Saint's grubby hands out of Dragon's code. Let her do what she needs to do without outside interference, and you staying back from this fight will wind up being a net positive. Right?

…Assuming Saint shows up at all, you intentionally do not think about.

Choice made, you open your connection to your Guardian Beast. « _Sam? Don't wait up for me. I'm not going._ »

« _What?_ » You can almost see her confused face. « _Why not?_ »

« _This is the best time for the Dragonslayers to go after the radio. If I'm not here to spring the trap, they'll realize I played them, and they'll never fall for this again. This is our one shot to pin those bastards to the wall._ »

« _Okay. Give me a minute to let Danny and Miss Militia know, and I'll meet you there._ »

You blink in surprise. What? « _You don't need to come. You would do more good at the fight—_ »

« _No more than you, and probably less. My specialty is hand-to-hand combat, remember? We may be fireproof, but if he gets lucky with a lightning bolt, I'm just as cooked as everybody else. You'd at least have a little more room to dodge._ » You sigh; that is a fair point. « _Not to mention, the last time we went up against the Dragonslayers didn't go too well for us. I want my pound of flesh from that mage, too._ »

« _Somebody has to go—_ »

« _Taylor_.» Your protest cuts off at the hard, flat tone of Samantha's voice. « _You sent me away when we fought them last time. I didn't like it, but it made sense. Somebody needed to get Tim and the stuff we picked up to shore, otherwise all our work was for naught. But now you're talking about going after them alone, without backup. Without me._

« _I'm a Guardian Beast. Literally the entire reason for my existence is to keep you safe. Are you really going to torture me by telling me to stay away while you leap into danger?_ »

No matter how much your mouth moves, no words can make it past the lump in your throat. « _Is… Is that what I've been doing to you all this time when I ask you to give me some space?_ » you finally ask.

« _Much as I would like to be behind you everywhere you go, no, it normally isn't that big a deal,_ » she replies. « _When you go to school or something like that, I know you're not in danger, and I don't feel the_ need _to follow you. But this? This is something else entirely._ »

How can you say no to an argument like that? « _Okay. I'll see you at the warehouse, then._ » Samantha cuts off the call with a satisfied-sounding huff, and you take a second to get your mental equilibrium back. Only then do you command Perfect Storm to deploy your Barrier Jacket and teleport you to your destination.

This part of Philadelphia has mostly been abandoned over the years, which makes it the perfect place to set up a trap for a certain criminal group. This warehouse is no different from any of its neighbors, the tattered red flag fluttering from the roof its only distinguishing feature. You left a back window open the last time you were here, and now you slip inside and let your eyes and mask adjust to the gloom. You still aren't sure what this place was used for originally, but whoever owned it before left a ton of wooden pallets and oily drop cloths everywhere. Lots of useless clutter means lots of places for the Dragonslayers to poke around. It should take them a good ten minutes to realize there is no radio here.

Rattling on the steel siding alerts you to a raccoon making her way up the outside wall and then through the window. "Nice place," she says with a laugh once she is back in human form. "Needs a woman's touch, though. Think we could make it a family project?"

"Ha, ha. You're hilarious," you reply in a monotone.

"I try." She floats over and flicks her tail at you. "What's the plan? This place has just enough room to give us maneuverability while still being small enough to hinder them. I wouldn't recommend hanging around in one place, though, not if all of them have tasers like that mage does." Samantha shudders. "Better to use hit-and-run tactics if you want to go with that plan."

You had not considered that, and you look at the few weight-bearing pillars in the middle. Between those and the general disorder, you should have enough cover for you to use Flare Blade. Particularly if you don't care about casualties and let the mana blade slice through muscle and bone with all the ease you know it can have, a traitorous voice whispers in the back of your head.

Shoving the niggling thought away, you point at the upper walkway. "I was thinking I could stay up there, out of sight. The great thing about homing bullets is that I don't have to have line of sight. Fly the bullets low to get them in position, and the Dragonslayers won't know where I really am."

« _Query_ ,» chimes in Perfect Storm. « _Why does Mistress not bombard enemies?_ »

"What?"

« _No need to be inside target area. Enemies enter area, then Mistress uses artillery attacks with targets still unaware of presence. Enemies subdued before capable of counterattacking, and range advantage still in Mistress's favor should one remain mobile._ »

You shake your head. "Do my powers even work like that?"

« _Mistress has great talent,_ » Perfect Storm interjects, « _but only glossed over full capabilities. Calamity Witch template given many abilities. All chosen to aid in corralling one's enemies and thereby overwhelm them with sustained fire. Primary offensive spells designed to be capable of long-range engagement when necessary._ »

"So I totally could do that. Good to know." Glancing around the space again, you tap your fingertips against your thigh. How best to make sure the Dragonslayers cannot escape your judgement?

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	77. Meltdown 7-3

**Meltdown 7.3**

« _The chicks have arrived at the nest. I repeat, the chicks are in the nest._ »

« _Samantha, just… no._ » You shake your head. How you long for the days when your Guardian Beast only watched soap operas. « _Are they actually in the warehouse yet or just standing around?_ »

A hologram screen pops up in front of you. The three Dragonslayers are milling around cautiously in front of the warehouse, almost as if they are uncomfortable with being out in the city in the middle of the day where anybody can see them. Or maybe they are just checking the area for traps. Too bad for them there is nothing to find. The only security you have right now is the Wide Area Search spell Samantha set up inside the building while she sits on a rooftop in her least conspicuous raccoon shape and watches them with her own eyes.

You wait impatiently. Once they walk inside, you can spring the trap. Which they should do shortly. As soon as they're ready. Any time now…

Finally!

You rise off your feet and drift a short distance from the twenty-story building you chose as your perch. Samantha might have a good view of the warehouse, but you don't. You can't even see it. "This had better work," you mutter.

« _Moderate engagement range for tactical bombardment. Mistress could move farther if desired._ »

"I'm not going to try a five-mile shot as my first long-range attack!" The three miles between you and your targets is daunting enough as is. A calming breath, and you give your order. "Storm, mark target location and activate adaptive magnification."

A small red dot appears in the distance. As soon as you look at it, space seems to warp and draw you closer. It takes a couple of tries to keep focused on the dot, but eventually the warehouse sits squarely in your field of view. Glowing crosshairs appear over the building. « _Aim staff at target._ »

You are glad there is so much stuff inside the warehouse to distract the Dragonslayers when you finally manage to overlay the green square over the crosshairs. At this distance, even small motions make the targeting assist swing wildly. The staff shudders, and you glance back at it only to fight the nausea that hits you when everything shifts in and out until the magnification function shuts off. Around the butt of the staff rotates a ring of alien letters writ in glowing orange. Perfect Storm notices your curious expression and explains, « _Staff stabilized. Stabilization unnecessary with sufficient experience, but often still used if time permitted. Decreased probability of errant damage._ »

"Yeah. That would be bad." You have only dabbled in trigonometry, but one thing you do know is that even a small angle can make a big miss if enough distance is involved. "Start up the ignition sequence."

 _Pop, pop, pop_ go three cartridges. Two more rings spin into existence, a larger one a short distance beyond the tines of Perfect Storm's head and a smaller one a couple of feet farther out. Sparks float out from the gem and flare into life, flames swirling and growing until a miniature sun hangs within the larger ring. « _Are they still inside, Sam?_ »

« _Yep, but I don't know for how much longer._ »

Time for the main event, then. "Fire!"

You are used to seeing Solar Wrath as a cone of flame that burns away everything in its path. What is unleashed now through the second ring is a beam of red-orange light. In the dark of night, this would light up the sky, but in this early afternoon it is far less distinctive. The focused bolt of mana roars through the air for several seconds before thinning and fading out. Inordinately pleased with yourself, you call up Samantha again. « _Well? Did we get them?_ »

« _Uh… Yeah. Yeah, you got 'em. Get back here._ »

The hesitancy in her voice is concerning. Your casting glyph appears below you before teleporting you to her side, where she is already standing in human form. "What's—"

She takes hold over your shoulder and spins you around.

"—wrong. Oh."

Fire spews out of the windows in the front of the warehouse as well as through the gaping hole in the roof. Already the air above the building is becoming choked with thick black smoke, and you just know the fire department will be on their way if they aren't already.

"I thought I set that blast to non-lethal," you whisper. It was your compromise to yourself. The Dragonslayers are a menace, hindering the work of one of the inarguably most important heroes on Earth and stealing her inventions to make a few quick bucks. They interfered with retrieving the personal effects of the dead TSAB agents that you planned to use to buy enough good will that they would stick around and help with the Endbringers. They stole knowledge of magic and used it against you, which while a lesser crime in the grand scheme of things is still what personally infuriates you the most. They needed to be stopped by whatever means necessary, but while you can create all the death and destruction a torrent of nuclear fire would naturally cause, you would rather not lead off with that. You are a hero, so you gave them one chance. If they tried to fight back or escape, only then would you consider hitting them with everything you had. But now it seems you might have gone a little overboard.

« _Spell had no lethal potential. Likely secondary reaction with contents of building._ »

Better, but still, contents of the building? It's empty! All that was inside was— "Wood, cloth, and oil. Those are flammable, aren't they?"

"That would do it." Samantha flicks a screen over to you. Three red dots are clustered together, and that is the sum total you can figure out. "They haven't moved since the spell hit. I tried bringing up a visual again, but it's all flames. I can't tell if they're under cover or knocked out or what."

You look at the warehouse again. Fire held within metal walls. That isn't a trap, it's an oven. "I have to go in and save them, don't I?"

"You don't _have_ to. You could always let them burn."

That advice is not exactly helpful. You let out a long sigh and shake your head. It's days like today that being a hero sucks. "Storm, can you adjust my Barrier Jacket again like you did when we were looking for the _Agharti_? I need to be able to breathe in there."

« _Contained air supply at expense of defenses. Full revision not advised. With Mistress's Mana Conversion Affinity, minimal computational resources needed to protect against heat. Diverting protection from energy attacks. Maximum air supply: ten minutes._ »

"More than enough. Wish me luck." A quick jump takes you into the air, and you zip over and plunge through the hole you made to land on the scorched concrete. Even as you stand up to your full height, you are greeted by a surge of flames that lick at your hands and face like an overeager puppy. As far as diving into the belly of the beast goes, you could do worse.

A few feet away you find the three Dragonslayers lying motionless on the ground. From how they are positioned, heads all pointed in the same direction, they probably caught the edge of Solar Wrath's explosion. An assumption that is further supported by the fact that large chunks of their armor have been ripped away, including the helmets of a man and a woman. You turn the man's head and take a good look at the tattoo of a cross covering his face. "Hello, Saint."

« _Vital signs detected. No casualties. All enemies unconscious. Removal from environment advised if survival a priority._ »

Stepping between two of the villains, you once again cast Spatial Translocation so that they will be ushered along as well and reappear on the street. A wave of your hand and a bow to mask the giddiness in your chest, and you announce, "Mission accomplished!"

Too bad the approaching sirens are ruining the mood.

"Unfortunately, they're unconscious, and I'd rather not try waking them back up just so we could question them," you say when Samantha joins you on the ground. "Too high a chance they would try to escape. Darn. I know it's been a while, but if we could give back what's left of the Sybaris…"

"Dragon would appreciate that," your Guardian Beast agrees.

« _Encrypted communications system detected. Adaptive defenses encountered. Subverting._ » You and Samantha stare at each other in shock. Is Perfect Storm really doing what you think it's doing? « _Defenses disabled. Decrypting communications connection. Tracing data streams. Data storage found. Accessing positional data._

« _Location of primary occupancy determined. Probable location of enemy base._ »

A police cruiser rolls up along with the fire truck, and a frustrated-looking cop steps out and stomps towards you. He looks at the two of you and then the Dragonslayers before harrumphing and jabbing a thumb at the burning building. "Anyone get hurt from all this?"

"It was empty," you say with a shake of your head.

"Some good news, I guess. PRT's on their way to deal with you."

"Talking with them will probably take a good hour or more," Samantha says once the cop is out of earshot. "I can handle it and keep an eye on these three if you want to check out those coordinates Storm found."

"Are you sure?" You can't help but remember the worried expressions the PRT troopers had when you went to talk to Chevalier, nor the threat ratings he rattled off. Talking to the PRT personally is likely the the best way to keep them from thinking you're a loose cannon with a penchant for starting fires. Or, well, maybe as much of a loose cannon, you think with another look at what remains of the warehouse.

"Up to you. I really think you should be home when Danny returns from the fight, though. I know, I know," she adds when you glare at her, "but no matter how unhappy you are with him right now, he's still your dad. You two need to make up."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Endbringer fights normally last about an hour, sometimes less, and you spent twenty minutes waiting for the Dragonslayers to show. If debriefing with the PRT takes as long as Samantha expects, you won't have enough time to check out the Dragonslayers' base before she forces you to talk to your father. Which, with your luck, will devolve into another shouting match about how you shouldn't be luring villains into town to capture them.

Yay. This afternoon is going to be fun.

* * *

 **Special thanks go out to Lunasmeow, UberJJK, and veekie, three players who helped determine what Solar Wrath's range should be. I had massively underestimated it.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	78. Meltdown 7-4

**Meltdown 7.4**

It doesn't take you long to come to a decision. Debriefing to the PRT, while a necessity, is just so boring most of the time. If Samantha is willing to take on that burden, you will gladly let her, and you might even consider it repayment for setting up that disastrous confrontation with your dad on Friday.

Hopping up to a rooftop, you hold your staff up in victory. Which it totally is; you took out the Dragonslayers singlehandedly and are headed over to break their stuff. You just guaranteed Dragon will never have to worry about them hacking her ever again. "Storm, put in the coordinates." The Device chimes. "Spatial Translocation, activate."

The light fades away, and you blink a couple of times as your mask adjusts to the dim light within the base. You suppose it's a good thing the Dragonslayers care enough about the environment to turn the lights off when they leave, but that being said, villains really need to learn to be more courteous to heroes who come to raid their lairs!

You snicker at that thought, still giddy from your success, and start investigating. Closest to you is a set of frames, seven in total, and in four of them are different suits of hulking power armor. Obviously the Dragonslayers' suits, with the missing three being those the villains were wearing. Farther in that direction is a large shadow that resolves into the Sybaris as you move closer. What is left of the Sybaris would be the more appropriate description, unfortunately. The rotors have already been ripped off, and a pyramid of cylinders sitting on the floor must be the suit's drones. Were they taking it apart to build a new suit, or to take pieces to patch up those they already use? There is no way to tell.

Nothing you can do about that right now. Shaking your head, you walk deeper into the room and through a door to find what is either the most geeked-out gaming rig of all time or the computer system Saint used to keep track of Dragon. Six screens face one of those expensive ergonomic chairs that has been revamped and set into a moving track. There are not one or two but three different keyboards on the desk, as well as two unadorned sheets of either aluminum or plastic below the desk itself. Somehow, you don't think these are simple footrests, but what they are you haven't a clue.

So you bend down and poke one.

Your calculated risk pays off as the screens come back to life. As complicated as this setup is, you doubt Saint is stupid enough to have something dangerous at his feet where he could kick it accidentally. The four screens on the outside show different videos, camera feeds you guess, and most of them feature capes dying in gruesome manners or the thirty-some-foot-tall humanoid known as Behemoth. Watching the Endbringer wave his arm and flash-fry a group of fliers with a wave of lightning, you shudder. Not going to this fight was definitely the better choice from a self-preservation perspective. A few of the videos drop out to be replaced with code similar to the lines and lines of text that are scrolling down the two middle screens. You took computer classes at Winslow and now at Winterrose, but this? This is so advanced that you wouldn't know where to start interpreting it.

Did Saint truly understand what he was looking at?

There isn't a mouse anywhere you can see, and you examine the foot stands again. Trackpads, maybe? As cautiously as you can, you slide the toe of your boot over the surface of one of them. You expect a cursor to pop up, but instead several of the screens move around and change views. You aren't sure what you just did, and you would rather not play around with this setup anymore. A single Flare Shooter bullet forms in you hand, but you hesitate when its light shows multiple boxes hooked up to the cluster of CPUs and open motherboards wired together behind the screens. You originally planned to destroy the Dragonslayers' computer system, but now you aren't so sure if that's the best idea right now. This is all firmly beyond your understanding. Perhaps you had better let Tim and Dragon examine it first.

Not to mention, the Dragonslayers somehow managed to hack Dragon for years without her knowing it. If she can see how they accomplished that, she can patch whatever holes in her defenses they been exploiting and keep this from ever happening again.

"Storm, keep track of these coordinates. I think we'll be coming back sometime in the very near future."

* * *

« _Mistress? Miss Militia contacting you._ »

You pause in the petting of your Guardian Beast and look down at the jewel hanging around your neck. "Miss Militia? Why?" Not that you mind her calling you. Even on a normal day, when she calls it is important, and this is not a normal day. It is unlikely in the extreme that the PRT would bother someone in the middle of an Endbringer fight for anything mundane. Even the most important news could wait until the heroes were no longer in a life-or-death fight against a malevolent force of nature.

Whatever it is, it is better than watching the clock and waiting for the fight to be over. Which you definitely have not been doing.

Perfect Storm apparently decides to connect you in lieu of answering an unanswerable question. « _Calamity? It's Miss Militia._ »

"Hey, what's—"

« _We don't have time to talk. You need to come to Penn Presbyterian immediately. We'll be waiting for you in the ICU._

« _Captain is in critical condition_.»

You barely remember the flight to the hospital. As soon as you arrive on the roof, Samantha pulls you to a stop. "Stay behind me. We need to walk through the hospital to get to the fourth floor, and we can't do that in costume. Well, shouldn't. I'll go first since no one should recognize me immediately"—She waves at the long skirt hiding her tail and the hat covering her ears—"and when we get close, you can duck out somewhere and transform. I'll cover for you until then."

You want to argue against all this cloak and dagger nonsense, but you force the words back down your throat. Arguing will just take more time.

Dropping down from the rooftop, you quickly transform back to civilian clothes and follow a dozen steps behind your Guardian Beast. Conveniently, you can split up at the elevators to make it look less likely that you are together. How many people will actually care? None. But like you vaguely recall Samantha saying on the way over, you can't do anything yourself to help your dad. Leave that to the doctors. You need to make sure you and he still have secret identities when he gets better.

Because he will get better. He has to.

Once the sign for the neurologic ICU comes into sight, Samantha discreetly points at a nearby ladies' room. A detour, a flash of light, and you're storming out of the bathroom and into the private family room where Miss Militia and Chevalier are waiting. "What happened?" you demand.

"It seems the Ukrainians were working on an anti-Endbringer weapon," explains Chevalier, taking a step closer and crossing his arms behind him. "That is likely why Behemoth targeted Kharkiv in the first place. They had a cannon firing phase-shifted shells that seemed to be able to penetrate Behemoth's skin. After the first few, he began deflecting them as best he could. We believe they were actually causing damage to him."

"And? My— Captain should have been in the command center, not on the front lines!"

"He wasn't," Miss Militia says quietly. "Behemoth was flinging the shells that far. He might have been aiming at the city with that one instead, we can't say. Either way, that's where it landed."

"Is…" You shake your head. "How badly is he hurt?"

"The healers' tent was undamaged, thank goodness, so they fixed most of his physical injuries. The problem is that none of them can heal the brain."

Samantha reaches over and pulls your closer at Miss Militia's words. You force yourself to ask, "What's wrong with his brain?"

Instead of answering, she sighs and waves for you to follow. Your father's room is right next to the door, and some incomprehensible sound escapes you when you see him hooked up to a ventilator and IV bags and pumps. A domino mask sits on his face, the sole nod to the rule of identities.

"Panacea couldn't do anything for the swelling that developed after the explosion, nor could anyone else there. He and the other Thinkers they could save are in hospitals throughout the country. Very few healers can affect the brain, and the few who possibly could by and large refuse to do so for ethical reasons." She waves at the room. "We need to trust good, old-fashioned medicine for this."

"What are his chances?" Samantha whispers.

With visible hesitation, Miss Militia shrugs. "The doctors said it was too early to tell. Some people wake up and recover, even with this degree of brain trauma. Some… don't."

Leaving the woman behind, you slowly walk into the room and wrap your hand around his. Only one person could possibly see your tears, and he is incapable of doing so.

* * *

 **It turns out Penn Presbyterian actually has a dedicated neurotrauma ICU, and they've had a general neuro ICU since early 2011 at least. Pretty convenient for my needs, and something to keep in mind if you ever get a serious brain injury in Philadelphia.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	79. Meltdown 7-x

**Meltdown 7.x**

 **Sunday, May 15  
** **Kharkiv, Ukraine**

Sighing as yet more blood got on his hands, Epoch picked up a cloth and froze the grabby cape laying on the cot. This was one of many reasons he preferred not to be involved in Endbringer fights. They were messy, dangerous things, with a high chance of death and utterly no possibility of getting anything of benefit. Well, perhaps not _'no'_ possibility, he amended as he flicked a glance at another cape from whom he felt the distinctive tingle of magical potential, but exceedingly little.

At that moment the echo of his power on that possible future recruit faded, and the boy in knight's armor screamed anew as he reached into the boy's soul and flipped the hourglass contained within. Blood slurped back into deep gashes and skin regained its color. One and a half seconds of noise, and the boy passed out yet again. Exactly the same as it had been all the other times he threw the cape into that ten-second loop. He knew why the assembled capes wanted him here. So long as his 'patients' did not truly die the first time around, he could keep them trapped in a never-ending cycle of agony.

Epoch glanced at the healers bustling around him and kept his frustrations to himself. The capes were all working with grim efficiency, but even with him reversing and stopping time and the young hero with the clock costume freezing the most critically injured, the dead and dying just kept piling up. Behemoth had not earned the title of 'Herokiller' for nothing, but that alone did not justify all the casualties flooding in. What in the world was going on out there?

He narrowed his eyes and pictured the only other Adept who had chosen to join him; insisted on joining him, rather, despite knowing it would surely reveal her new allegiance to her former allies. Plain brown hair, sharp cheekbones, too much eyeshadow, a couple of pock marks on her forehead. A few more prods and her face snapped into place in his mind's eye with all the detail of a photograph. Another cape returning to her proper place in time distracted him, but his connection was already sufficiently established that reversing her did not break the spell. _Thirteenth Hour_ , he all but shouted in his head.

« _…what…_ » the other Adept's voice whispered back.

« _What's happening?_ »

There was silence for several long moments before her reply finally made it through. « _…attacking Behe… swatting… away… …iendly fire… no one…_ »

Their connection sputtered and broke, but he took some comfort in how it only fizzled out. This felt exactly the same as all the other times Thirteenth Hour's telepathic ability failed, and while they could not know with certainty that it would feel different if she died, he was going to assume so unless he saw a body.

It was times like this that he wished he had the same predilection for telepathy that his newest recruit did, but that was not the case. He had actually given up that possibility as a pipe dream until she started showing promise for it. She was the single magician within their cabal who could use true telepathy, in fact, even if he and Maclibuin could make themselves audible to her with effort. Sadly, she had shown little talent for anything else.

This was why Calamity Witch was such a promising find.

The grabby cape and her neighbor popped back into real time, and Epoch's eye twitched before he shoved his hand into his pocket to wrap around his watch. The storm of power trapped between bronze and spring screamed at him as it tried to rush into him, furious at being contained. It wanted out.

He was too practiced in working with Maclibuin's spell, however, and he forced the power to trickle out slowly. A stern blink, and the two capes were once more frozen in place. He looked around him again and forced his shoulders to relax. The healers were so busy that no one would notice if these two remained trapped for twenty seconds rather than his usual ten. Nor, he decided after drawing out a little more power, would they notice if the knight's condition improved just a little bit as he was rewound by fifteen seconds this time.

Epoch withdrew his hand before he could give into the temptation to use up more of his limited enhancement. The more power contained within a single object, the harder it was to increase it farther, and the ability he had purchased from Cauldron was a thirsty one indeed. Even with all the rituals performed on his grandfather's pocket watch, he had perhaps two minutes of additional time at his disposal. Not enough to change the fate of anyone here, and that alone was reason to keep from tapping into it. A few seconds here and there he could spare, but he could not waste the charm's power frivolously.

Thirteenth Hour's telepathy. Maclibuin's rituals. His levitation and now projectiles. All of them products of grueling, time-consuming work, and one witch had shamed their trials without even knowing it. How had Calamity Witch, a hero who had been around for only a few months, figured out the secrets of magic in such a short span of time when he had been working on doing the same since he was sixteen? Was she the child of magicians and so had learned it at her parents' knees? Had she stumbled upon another magician and been apprenticed? Was she simply some sort of prodigy, a genius for whom magic sat up and begged?

It was infuriating and depressing and exciting, all at the same time. If she could be convinced to teach them, to part with the mysteries of her craft? Oh, it would be glorious. She had been undecided on whether or not to take him up on his offer, and he had hoped that giving her space to consider it would lead her to calling. Unfortunately, that was not what had happened. The days had come and gone, and still they had heard nothing.

Her silence was the sole reason he was here. She had not called, and he remembered how poorly she had reacted to Planeswalker's visit. He would have to speak to her in person, but that alone was not terrible. He was sure he could sway her to work with them if they spoke face to face again, and as though to spit on his efforts, she had not shown up. Now he was stuck dealing with all the casualties of the fight being laid at his feet for nothing.

A cape in a white cloak finally reached his little quartet of patients and laid her hands on the knight. Only a few seconds passed before she pulled away. "There. He can't rejoin the—"

An explosion roared somewhere close, and the tent shook from its fury. "That was the command center!" shouted one of the less seriously injured capes. Rime? Frost? Some ice generator, anyway. "All healers with me! Clockblocker, you too! Epoch, keep these people stable!"

The crowd of healers rushed out the door, and he swept his eyes over the horde of wailing capes. They expected him to keep all these people looped or frozen in time while they left to pile even more in front of him? And as if on cue, the stupid heroine snapped out of her freeze and got ahold of his robes to smear yet more blood on them.

"Great."

* * *

 **Not at all how I expected Epoch's character to go, but I'll roll with it.**


	80. Civil War 8-1

**Civil War 8.1**

 **Tuesday, May 17**

"I am sorry that it's taken this long to call you back," you tell the floating screen, "but I've had other things on my plate recently. I didn't forget, I just haven't had time."

" _I can understand that,"_ Epoch replies. _"You just need to understand in return how important this is to us. It is not a side-venture or distraction. Understanding and mastering magic is the Adepts' entire_ raison d'être _. We have all sacrificed everything we had to learn it. So far I have only told the others that I have been feeling out an expert who knows what she is doing, but even with nothing more than that we have all been on tenterhooks waiting to hear whether we will be taught or will have to continue fumbling in the dark. For the first time in years, we have hope again."_

You roll your eyes. Epoch is laying the guilt trip on thick, and it isn't working. "Look, I get it. You want this so badly you can almost taste it. I understand, I really, truly do. But I have other responsibilities, too. Not to mention," you add with a bit of bite to your voice, "I am a hero. I became a hero to break the stranglehold villains had on my home and cast them down into the ash and embers where they belong. To then teach magic, _my_ magic, to a bunch of villains? You can see why that might not sit well with me."

Another screen pops into existence, and your eyebrows rise at Dragon's name floating next to Epoch's. "We can discuss all this more in detail when I see you. Right now I need to deal with something else that just popped up. I'll call you later." A flick of your fingers banishes Epoch's audio connection. "Hey Dragon, it's Calamity. Where'd you get my number?"

" _I asked Miss Militia for it,"_ comes her dry answer. _"She was surprised that we were in contact. You never told her we talked?"_

"I don't think I need to clear everything I do with the Protectorate," you shoot back.

" _True, true, but there are some things other people should know about before you go about doing them, don't you think? It keeps them from worrying when they find out the details afterwards. Details like, I don't know, the Dragonslayers being captured in Philadelphia in the middle of an Endbringer fight."_ You can almost feel Dragon's stern glare from here. _"You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"_

"You're welcome." What is Dragon's problem? The Dragonslayers were among her worst opponents personally, practically her archenemies. Or is this all an ego thing and she wanted to be the one to take them down? You respect her, but if she's pissed off just because you accomplished what she couldn't…

" _What were you thinking, taking on all three of them by yourself? That was dangerous and foolhardy and you could have gotten yourself killed!"_

"You're talking like you think they surprised me. That can't be farther from the truth." You shake your head with a faint sigh. "They didn't ambush me, quite the opposite. That was a trap just for them, and they walked right into it. They didn't know I was there until they were already out of the fight. I was in no danger whatsoever."

" _A trap?"_ Dragon finally asks. In the meantime, Lacey pokes her head into your room and points behind her, a grim expression on her face. What now? _"A trap indicates you lured them in and you knew exactly when they were coming. How?"_

"That's my little secret, for now at least. I'll tell you later. Besides, I have something to show you. Just give me a little time to get everything ready." Lacey points again, more forcefully this time, and you give her a nod. "I'll let you know when, okay? Just have a little patience."

Dragon gives you a perfunctory goodbye before you dismiss her screen as well and follow the giant of a woman into the living room. She and Kurt have taken to spending most of the evenings with you and Sam in the apartment. Apparently, your dad updated his will when you all moved to Philadelphia in case he die— in case he wasn't there to take care of you at the moment. They are just here while he's still in the hospital, and once he's better they won't have to.

You force down the lump that tries to fill your throat every time you think about your dad lying motionless in that bed. He doesn't look any better now than right after the battle, but it was his brain that was injured. You can't watch that heal like a cut or a burn. And it takes time for that to heal, so just because he's still completely dependent on life support doesn't mean he won't get better.

Right?

Lacey comes to a stop behind the couch where Kurt and Samantha are sitting, and you stare with wide eyes at the war zone displayed on the screen. That isn't Africa or South America, though. You recognize those buildings.

"— _is sure why the Mara Salvatrucha gang has chosen now to make such a move, but it is not without precedent,"_ an older black man is saying to the local news anchor. _"Only a few years ago, they set off a similar gang war in Corpus Christi in Texas, and just like here in Philly, in doing so they set themselves up against all the gangs and independent parahumans who lived in the area. It is, however, the first time they have moved so blatantly during an Endbringer fight. Attacking the Winter Hill gang would be a large enough move, but to do that_ and _kill both of the Warlock's capes? That is unusually aggressive even for them."_

" _Why do you think they have taken such actions then, Dr. Hammett?"_ asks the anchor.

" _I cannot say for certain, but the most likely reason is that it has to do with the PRT capturing the local branch's second in command three weeks ago. MS-13 has never let major defeats like that one go unpunished. It explains why they also attacked Winter Hill, who took part in that fight alongside the PRT."_

"Storm? Can you—"

Your Intelligent Device is way ahead of you, and the screen that appears now has Miss Militia's name on it. _"Calamity Witch?"_ the heroine asks.

"It's me. What's going on?"

" _What does it look like? The Maras are making a push to take over the city, and they aren't pulling any punches. They've completely thrown the Unwritten Rules out the window."_

"If they aren't playing by the rules anymore," Samantha says without looking away from the now-muted television, "that means we aren't either, doesn't it? Don't bother capturing them; if they're shooting to kill, _just like they did last time_ , then we return the favor. Am I right?"

There is silence on the other end of the line for several long moments. _"The dead cannot be questioned, and they cannot be put on trial. Both are aspects of the American justice system we should respect whenever possible. Having said that, upholding those aspects does not mean you should throw your lives away in the process."_

"What about the other gangs? They're just as much involved in this gang war as MS-13 is," you point out.

" _True, but whatever their reasoning, right now their actions are to the benefit of the people of Philadelphia. We won't ignore crimes being committed in front of our faces, but they are small fry by comparison. We need to focus on MS-13."_

The screen goes blank and disappears, and Kurt looks at the two of you with hard eyes. "I hope I'm wrong, but it sounds like they won't even try to stop the gangs during all this. This would be the perfect time to arrest them all, when they're too tired from fighting each other. Miss Militia was talking like they're going to be fighting alongside them, for heaven's sake!"

"Maybe that's for the best," Samantha says, unmuting the TV. "We still need to live in what's left of the city after this gang war is over. If keeping everything intact means picking the gangs off one by one rather than trying to eat an elephant in a single bite, that is the better choice, isn't it?"

"Except that just makes it look like the heroes are okay with the gangs as long as they don't cause too much trouble! If the Protectorate is actually going to side with villains rather than stopping them, how can anyone believe that they will ever try to clean up the city for good?!"

Lacey lays a hand on Kurt's shoulder, but he shrugs it off as he stands up and storms out of the room. The front door slams shut not a minute later.

She stares at the hallway for a long moment before turning back to you with a grimace. "He isn't mad at you two, you know," she says a bit unnecessarily. You knew it was not you he was railing at, and you can see his point. You also can't help but remember how Cailleach helped you fight off the Beasts at the party, nor how Winter Hill sided with the Protectorate to save the PRT agents when the Maras attacked the transport that you now realize contained their second-in-command. "It's just… This hits too close to home. For all of us. Back when the Slaughterhouse 9 rolled through Brockton Bay, the Protectorate fought alongside the Empire and the Marche and then were surprised when those two gangs were stronger than ever. Even if New Wave took out Marquis and the Marche fell apart afterwards, it didn't stop the Nazis from grabbing hold of Brockton's throat and never letting go. Things aren't as bad here, but they weren't as bad before the Nine came to visit, either. He's just scared that we're watching the same thing happen again."

Samantha takes a few minutes to all but shoo Lacey away, which the woman does not fight against too hard considering her obvious desire to calm down her husband, and once it is just the two of you left in the apartment Samantha props her hip against the back of the couch and meets your eyes. Determination and well-banked fury swirl within her head just as it does within you.

"Well, Taylor? How are we going to deal with this?"

* * *

 **That's one way to kick off the arc, isn't it? This is gonna get messy.**


	81. Civil War 8-2

**Civil War 8.2**

You turn away from Samantha and frown at nothing. This is a bad situation all around, one with no good answers.

You don't want to help the gangs. They're villains, the same kind of people you vowed to destroy. The Adepts were one thing; you might be able to sway them to the side of the heroes in exchange for magic lessons. Working alongside villains to fight the Endbringers is also something different. On those days the fight is not between good and evil but between man and monster, and the alternative to allying together is mutual destruction. But this is not an Endbringer fight. It would mean fighting together because it is simply more convenient.

On the other hand, trying to fight all the gangs at once? That isn't possible, not in the long term. All it would take is one villain saying something, and you know they would, and next time you would not have the element of surprise. The gangs might even start hunting you down in addition to MS-13, and as the Maras proved, you're tough. You're not invincible.

Your frown becomes a grimace as another fact comes to mind. It is all well and good to make plans about how to stop villains when they are just faceless masks, but that's not what all of them are anymore. Cailleach helped you fight off the Beasts at the ill-fated party. Jotunn stood with Chevalier and Solaire with Miss Militia during the battle over the transport. Cailleach immediately made sure you were okay after you ate an RPG, only leaving you alone when Samantha threatened her. The rest of the city's villains you don't know, but for them to put themselves at risk by trusting the Protectorate makes it harder to think of them as irredeemable. They aren't complete monsters. There is some glint of goodness within them, thought how deep it is buried is another question entirely.

So fighting everybody at once is out of the question. The idea of just… sitting this one out is tempting, but it isn't you. You stayed away from the Behemoth fight because you ran the risk of being an aid to the Endbringer and a danger to your allies, not to mention because it was the best chance you would ever get to nab Saint, but you do not have that excuse here.

"God, Kurt's going to hate us."

"I don't think he will hate us," argued Samantha. "Be disappointed, likely, but we will can correct that misconception when it becomes an issue."

You shake your head. "From the way he was talking, it won't be that easy. Not with him, not with the other Privateers. This is all but spitting in their faces."

Hands wrap gently around your shoulders. "Then why do it?"

"We're studying the pre–Civil War era in Mrs. Mitchell's class, and a line from one of Lincoln's speeches is going around and around in my head. _'A house divided against itself cannot stand'_. The threat is right there in front of us: MS-13. We can fight among ourselves once we aren't in danger anymore, but right now either we stop the Maras together or we all die together." You wave your hand at the television, which has now moved from covering the gang war to the stock market. "Because it's clear that's what they're aiming for now."

Thankful for your Guardian Beast's silent support, you tap one finger against the jewel hanging at your chest. "Storm, prepare an audio message to send to Miss Militia as a voice mail. Start.

"Miss Militia, I don't like it, but I understand why you're working with the gangs. If there's anything I can do to help, you know how to reach me. We lost Brockton Bay. We can't lose our new home too."

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

 **Wednesday, May 18**

« _You know,_ » you comment to Samantha, telepathy necessary if you wish to be heard over the whistling winds, « _when I told Miss Militia to call me if she needed me, I kind of expected it to take more than twenty-four hours._ »

« _Technically it did. She called during the evening news. It's 9 o'clock. That's twenty-seven hours._ »

You shoot the raccoon-woman a venomous glare and fly a little faster. MS-13 had been busy, and their roster is much larger than you previously assumed. From the way Miss Militia had described the course of events, a squad of twenty men were spotted causing trouble, and the PRT moved out to deal with them. Then another group popped out, and Sere and most of the remaining troopers went after that one. Fairyland moved against a third. Hellbeast, a Brute and self-proclaimed antihero, teamed up with Circus of all people to fight a fourth; you didn't even know the Brockton Bay villain had moved to Philadelphia! Chevalier and Mishmash went after team number five, and by that point things were getting ridiculous. How in the world were there over a hundred Maras in town? Worse, you knew there had to be more. These were just the unpowered members, and no one had yet seen Cadejo. You were proven right when a sixth team had Miss Militia and Pounce rolling out.

Now you and Samantha are headed after lucky number seven.

Automatic gunfire rings out in the night, and you take a sharp turn towards your opponents. When you look down, you laugh morbidly. Either Lady Luck is smiling down on you, or somebody took a wrong turn somewhere.

Winter Hill has already engaged the Maras.

Not all that's left of the Irish mobsters, unfortunately. That would just be far too convenient. It's just Jotunn, Solaire, and a half-dozen of their little gun-wielding friends. The frost giant is some seven feet tall already and slowly pushing an ice-covered car sideways down the street, and behind the barrier follows the rest of the group. Whenever the Brute stops to catch his breath and let the car thaw somewhat, the gangsters move around the edges to fire at the Mexicans. Solaire meanwhile throws her oddly shaped arming sword like a short javelin, and only after it tears through a cartel member and sets him on fire does she flick her wrist to conjure a flame that grows into a replacement blade. One of these days you're going to figure out why she wears that heavy mace on her back when she can create all the weapons she could ever want.

Depending on how things go, that might even be today.

The Maras are also under cover, mostly inside a nearby building but several outside behind cars or dumpsters. The thought of hitting the building with Solar Wrath is tempting, but you shake it away. As the fight with the Dragonslayers showed, that spell can have negative consequences, and you don't know if there's anyone else in the building. Even on nonlethal the chance of collapsing the building is too high to leave to chance.

Instead a Flare Shooter hits a gang member carrying a handheld grenade launcher. His partner swings his rifle to aim at you, but that leaves them both open to the bullets from the Winter Hill soldiers that splatter the contents of their heads onto the road.

Nausea wells up in you, but you force it down. It's disgusting and visceral, but it still isn't as bad as disintegrating people in nuclear fire the way you did in Durham.

Element of surprise gone, you and Samantha drop from the sky to land behind Jotunn's car. "Hey there," you tell him with a tight smile. "You looked like you could use a hand."


	82. Civil War 8-3

**Civil War 8.3**

The blue giant shares a look with the flame-wielding knight for a moment before returning his gaze to you. "Need a hand? Not really. But I would never turn down the offer of assistance in these circumstances."

"Tell me you have a plan," Solaire asks in a less stuffy voice. "The best we had was 'get close enough to beat them to a pulp', and it's working out… not as well as we kinda hoped."

"To be honest, that's what a lot of our plans end up being," Samantha replies with a chuckle.

You shoot her an aggrieved look. You have better plans than _that!_ Most of the time, anyway. "No point in me going inside after them. I'm artillery first and foremost. I can start shooting everyone on the top floor and work my way down while the three of you work your way up."

Jotunn nods. "That would work. Just one problem. How will you know where everyone is? I'm pretty sure there are other people inside besides these punks. We don't _know_ it's a hostage situation, but we don't know it isn't, either."

"My attacks are nonlethal unless I want them to be." Which does make spray-and-pray a valid tactic, though still not the best one. The best way to deal with this requires something else. « _I'm going to have my hands full flying and shooting. Shielding, too,_ » you add with a mental grimace at the memory of the last time you tangled with these guys. « _Do you mind casting Wide Area Search for me and linking me to the feed?_ »

« _You know I don't, but are you sure that's the best idea?_ » Samantha eyes the Winter Hill capes. « _We haven't exactly been hiding that spell, but we sure haven't advertised it, either. There won't be any putting that cat back in the bag._ »

« _They'll know about it. That isn't the same as being able to do anything about it._ »

Samantha shakes her head and cups her hands. "If you're sure. Don't make me say 'I told you so'."

"Dare I ask?" Jotunn wonders as he glances back and forth between you and the softball-sized ball of light in Samantha's hands.

"Just wait."

The ball breaks apart, and sparks zip around to blanket the area. Two holograms pop up in front of your Guardian Beast before she flicks one of them over to you. You position it to the side within easy reach and take to the skies once again. A few more Maras have crawled out of the woodwork while the four of you were having your little powwow, but while they try to shoot you down the triangular shield that forms in front of you prevents anything from slipping through. You upgraded your Barrier Jacket following the RPG incident, and since your shield is based on your Jacket you know it is tougher now than ever.

What will eventually be needed to break though, you have no idea, but it's more than this.

The other three were not idle while you were distracting MS-13 and setting up your perch. Samantha is pointing out different things on her own screen, likely where the targets and innocents are if the way some of the red dots on your screen turn blue is any indication. Lesson finished, Solaire steps back and banishes the sword still in her hands. Drawing the mace out of the sling on her back, she does something with her hand in front of her out of your field of vision.

The effect is obvious. A wave of flame races up her arm and over her torso, in its wake leaving plates of armor forged from still-molten gold. Seconds pass, and now the redhead with the pixie cut and yellow domino mask is gone. What stands in her place is a gleaming knight straight out of a fairy tale. Jotunn sloughs off the overlarge fur coat so he can grow to his full ten-foot height, white tribal tattoos standing out starkly from his blue skin and frost already forming around his feet. Samantha adjusts her fedora.

The three capes leave the cover of the car and charge at the enemy.

You can't help but wince when you see the result of their sudden attack. Jotunn hits the quartet first, his lanky build not enough to casually sweep them away but still enough to grab one gangster's head and fling him into the opposite wall. You carefully ignore the possible causes of the strange shattering sound that follows. As they do not possess such long legs, Samantha and Solaire arrive a few moments later. The raccoon woman rips the gun out of one man's hands and beats him over the head and chest with it until he falls; the pyrokinetic, on the other hand, wields her mace to brutal effect and slams it into her own target's head. The last visible Mara turns his rifle on Solaire, but the bullets do nothing to her, and he stops once the mace sends him to the ground as well.

You can't help but blink in surprise at how quickly that went. A total of twenty gunmen, and just the three Brutes already took out nearly a third of that number before running into the building. This wasn't going to take long.

Eying the second story of the short apartment building, you roll your head and shake out your hands. Might as well start on your contribution. A quick reposition has the Wide Area Search screen between you and the building in question, and a couple of taps turns the overhead map into an overlay so you can see where all the targets and hostages are. A slider to the side fills in the walls, giving you a true 3D map of the interior. No need to send your bullets through people's walls when they can fly around corners.

A pack of Flare Shooters slip inside via an open window much slower than you normally move them, but you aren't attacking just yet. Selecting one at random, you send it down the hall, around the corner, along the ceiling, and down. The red dot turns yellow; the blue dot that had been between the corner and the red dot scurries away. You eye a brace of red dots and take them down just as swiftly. None of them are dead, not on your end anyway. Miss Militia might have hinted that lethal force would be overlooked, but you are still a hero at the end of the day.

By now a few of the gunmen have figured out what you are doing, but their bullets do just as much to the shield floating between you and them as those fired earlier, and their attempts to shoot you down are quickly aborted when the Winter Hill soldier hanging around below you fire back at them.

In all honesty, the fight ends more with a whimper than a bang. Several more fireballs force the Maras to abandon their hostages, and the few that try to slip out the back fall to a clump of Shooters waiting for just such an escape attempt. The rest decide to take their chances against the Brutes, which ends how it always does when normal humans decide to fight parahumans who can't be hurt. A quick confirmation that all the previously red dots are either the yellow of unconsciousness or the black of death, and you drift gently to the ground in front of the apartment and dismiss your shield. "That was easier than I thought it would be," you admit when the trio returns.

"With all four of us in play, it was never going to be difficult," Jotunn says with a dismissive wave of his hand as he straightens up; you always thought you were tall, but truly height like that must be a pain to deal with on a day to day basis. "It was much easier with you attacking from a distance and hemming them in, though. Your assistance is appreciated."

"I didn't do it to help _you_. I did it to save the people stuck inside," you throw back with a scowl.

"Regardless of what your intent was, the effects are appreciated nonetheless." The giant starts to shrinking, his color diminishing as he drops down to mid-six-foot if your guess is right. Still some blue to him, though, and you can't help but wonder how tall he is without any help from his powers. He does not notice your contemplation but instead continues, "Besides, I think we might have more similarities than you assume. At the end of the day, we are both working toward what we see as the best interests of the people we have sworn to protect. My group just happens to be smaller."

"Is now really the time for philosophy?" grouses Solaire before you have the time to think up a good response to that because _really_? Her armor consumes itself in another wave of fire, and she reaches her hand out for Samantha to shake. "You were pretty handy with those clubs you grabbed. You ever want to spar all out, look me up."

Samantha's response is perfectly neutral. "I will keep the offer in mind."

Perfect Storm chimes, and an audio connection from Miss Militia's phone replaces the Wide Area Search window. _"Calamity Witch, do you need reinforcements?"_

"No reinforcements. Just a prison transport. And a couple of body bags," you add with a glance at the body lying on the other side of the road. "Some of us weren't quite as careful as others."

"They were holding innocents hostage," Jotunn cuts in loudly enough that Miss Militia can hear him. "The Unwritten Rules provide no protection for those who flout them."

You hear Miss Militia take a breath, but whatever retort she is about to unleash dies out. _"Regardless, Chevalier just called an all-clear. It seems like any Maras who haven't been captured already have fled."_

"What, all at once?" That sounds odd, to say the least.

" _I don't like it, either. It was too coordinated, almost like they're planning something."_

As if cued by her words, an explosion rings out in the distance. You share a glance with Samantha before the two of you are airborne and headed in that direction. The source of the disturbance turns out to be the PRT headquarters of all places, with agents in full body armor pouring out the doors like ants from a hill. From the way they are storming a nearby building, it looks like they have that angle well in hand, so instead you float over to take a look at the burned and broken rooftop on one end of the building. Try as you might, you cannot remember what this part is.

Samantha changes into her pet form and wriggles inside, then returns a couple of minutes later. "I think they were aiming for the PRT's armory," she says once she is human again. "They missed, but not by much, and if the PRT didn't build their office so sturdily it still might have done the job. Mortar fire is what some of the agents inside were talking about."

"How many Maras does Cadejo have on hand?" you wonder out loud. "Seven groups, 140 men in total, all for a distraction?"

"Some of them escaped, so he probably didn't plan on losing all of them. Even if he lost all the men he sent out tonight, if it were in exchange for crippling the PRT? That would be a good trade on his end. Not to mention," she adds darkly, "I don't think everybody's necessarily local. MS-13 is a Mexican cartel. Between their other branches in the States and those still in their home country, he has a lot of bodies he can call on. He would just have to sell it to his bosses. As Jotunn just proved, never underestimate the ego of gang leaders."

The implications of that are anything but comforting. "This war is just getting started."

* * *

 **The decision to reveal Wide Area Search to the Winter Hill villains was an interesting one on the part of the players. I haven't decided yet just how that's going to change things moving forward.**


	83. Civil War 8-4

**WanderingReader10:** No, Taylor doesn't use her staff like a broom (though I have considered writing something magical girl-y where a character did just that). She flies the same way most non-magical superheroes do, just with her staff in her hands or floating next to her a few times when she's flown _very_ slowly.

* * *

 **Civil War 8.4**

 **Thursday May 19**

"Taylor! Can you come over here?"

You look up at Lacey's call, your eyes flicking over to the clock. Not even five-thirty yet. After the distraction and artillery strike on the PRT headquarters last night, you don't know whether MS-13 plans to attack again tonight or take the time to plan, but it is unfortunately still too early to say for sure. There is still plenty of time for them to cause trouble. That's partly why you want to get your homework over and done with already, so you don't have to worry about coming back home after a fight and have to stay up until the wee hours of the morning to finish off an essay.

Truly the worst part about being a teenaged superhero: you still need to go to school.

Lacey and Kurt are waiting for you in the living room, along with Tim and surprisingly Ramirez, one of the former Dockworkers you don't know as well as some others. He does not look pleased to be here, but try as he might he cannot run off thanks to the iron grip Tim has on his elbow. The Gadgeteer looks none too happy, and once you join Samantha on the couch he give Ramirez a little shake. "Okay, Ramirez. Tell them what you told me earlier."

"Do I have to?" he whines.

"Either you tell them or I will, and I won't try to cover for your screw-up."

Now you and your Guardian Beast share worried glances with Lacey and Kurt. What in the world are they talking about?

"Fine, fine. I get it." Ramirez takes a deep breath before he tells you, "Okay, you know this whole thing with MS-13? We… mighta helped kick off the whole shebang."

"What," growls Kurt. You, on the other hand, stare at him. All this loss of life, the bombing of the PRT, all of it is the Privateers' fault? Or part of it, anyway?

Ramirez glances over at Tim, but the mage's face might as well have been carved from stone for all the encouragement it offered. "Yeah, I know. It sounds really, really bad. We weren't expecting it to go down like this. The whole city wasn't supposed to go to hell.

"Me and some of the boys got the idea back when Danny ran off to Russia or wherever to deal with Behemoth. We knew a bunch of Winter Hill's capes were going there, too, and from what Danny said way back when, all cape crime stops on Endbringer days, right? It got me thinking, hey, if Winter Hill thinks nothing's gonna happen, nobody's gonna be guarding their stuff. So I grabbed a couple of guys and we went after one of their drug houses. Only two guys on guard, and they were easy to knock out before we went inside. 'Course, we didn't just hit them," he says with a proud smile. "See, we had already thought about what the best way to cover our tracks was, so before they went nighty night I yelled some Spanish at the guys, and we were dressed up kinda like the Maras do, ski masks and all. 'Swhy the news reported the Maras did it, because the guards thought that's who did. Took the money like normal, but we took the drugs with us so we could get rid of them somewhere else. Real Maras wouldn't have burned up all the product; they would have taken it with them to sell for themselves. After that, it was just a matter of letting the guards wake up and tell the story, and then Winter Hill's going hard and heavy after MS-13 for breaking the whole Truce thing."

"You tried to frame MS-13 as Truce-breakers?" Samantha asks in a stunned flat voice.

Ramirez nods. "Yep. We can't go after Winter Hill right now, right? Even before the Protectorate called the whole Truce thing a couple of weeks back, they had too many men and too many capes. Can't go after MS-13 because they have us outmanned, too, and even though they only had two capes before one of them got captured, they still have Cadejo. We're having enough trouble with Fairyland. Instead of fighting either one of them, we set things up so they're going after _each other_. Winter Hill wants revenge for hitting them during an Endbringer fight, the Maras don't know why Winter Hill is after them but hit back just as hard. Doesn't matter who comes out on top, the winner's still been bled out and makes for easy pickings. Easier, anyway. And it isn't like nobody'd believe the Maras would do just that. It was after the whole Truce went out that Cero got himself captured, and the Maras went nuts trying to get him back." He points at you. "Not to mention, shooting rockets at the boss's daughter? No way we're gonna let that one slide."

"No, instead you just kicked off a city-wide gang war."

"That wasn't part of the plan, Lacey, and you know it. It was just supposed to be Winter Hill and the Maras, and the Maras weren't supposed to know this was coming until it was too late to get ready. We had nothing to do with them killing the Warlocks. They were already going to start this mess, so we didn't do anything wrong in the big picture, now did we?"

Kurt sighs and runs his hand through his hair. "What you did wrong was you didn't tell anybody you were going to do this. Even if everything went according to plan, it was going to end in a mess. Good tactical plan, bad strategy. If you had asked Alexander or Danny or me, we would have told you that."

"Asked Danny, or _Captain_?" asks Ramirez in a dark tone. "You've seen it too, haven't you? The longer we went, the more the boss started treating this like a cape would. Holding back, keeping things stable, not rocking the boat too much. Fairyland has been going easier on us, and you know it. It's because we aren't doing the same thing we did in Brockton Bay, hammering the Merchants as hard as we could. We're playing games now. Just like the gangs do, just like the PRT does. And while we're running around not getting anything done, people are suffering. If we're just gonna be another bunch of flashy heroes instead of actually making a difference, what's the point?"

"The point is to stop the gangs without making them crush everyone around them in their death throes," you say.

"Not gonna happen that way, darling. Push them hard enough that they feel it, and they're gonna fight back. Now, ten years, don't matter. It's all gonna be the same in the end, so the longer you spend not pushing them, the more people they hurt before they're put down for good."

"When Danny wakes up, we can discuss how we're going to handle things in the future. All of us."

Ramirez scoffs at Kurt's statement and yanks his arm out of Tim's grip. "When he wakes up? Come on, Kurt, you know that's never gonna happen. Danny's good as dead."

 _Good as dead_. The words pound in your ears, and something dark and thick burns through your veins. "Get out," someone says, her voice soft and hateful. It's only when everyone looks your way that you realize it was you.

Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, Ramirez finally gets out, "Look, Taylor, I didn't mean it like that, but _ghrrk_."

You aren't sure when Samantha moved. One second she is sitting next to you, and the next she has one hand bunched up in Ramirez's shirt just below his chin and is holding him off the ground. "Didn't you hear?" she asks sweetly. "She said _get out_." A sharp motion sends Ramirez flying out of sight, a thud marking his collision with a wall. A few moments later the door slams shut.

Samantha comes back and wraps you in her arms, and you force yourself not to break down. He's wrong. He has to be. You have to get your dad back.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

 **Friday, May 20**

You drift through the night sky alongside Samantha, eyes staring unfocused at the sea of lights below you. Nothing happened last night, thankfully; after Ramirez's comments, you were in no state of mind to fight, and if you had tried, you don't know what would have happened. For the Maras to hold back two nights in a row is too much to ask for. Something is going to happen.

Sure enough, Perfect Storm throws up an audio screen. _"Calamity Witch, this is Protectorate Console,"_ says an unknown man's voice. You've heard Chevalier's voice before, so you assume this can only be Sere.

"Console, this is Calamity. I hear you. What's up?"

" _Trouble. MS-13 has deployed a new cape, one we haven't seen before. Fairyland has engaged, but they are requesting assistance. They're on the south edge of Passyunk Square."_

"Copy that. Calamity Witch and Samantha on our way." You cut the connection and turn towards the specified shopping district. "Hey, Sam? All Sere said was that there was a new cape. He didn't mention anything about anyone else with him."

"And yet Fairyland is calling for help," she finishes with a nod. "I noticed that, too. Either he thought we would assume gang members with guns, or this cape is a tough enough fight on his own that he can take on three villains who held off the Maras and Winter Hill on their own."

Another screen appears. _"Calamity Witch, we just got word of trouble,"_ Alexander tells you. _"Passyunk Square. Some new cape."_

You knew Tim spent a few minutes fiddling with a pair of radios this week so they could tune into the police scanners' frequencies, but that was still faster than you expected for the Privateers to catch word of this fight. "We know. The Protectorate just called us. Samantha and I are en route."

" _Hold up for a few minutes. Carl and I are suiting up in the power armor as we speak."_

"The fight is going on _now_."

" _I realize that, but we're moving as fast as we can. Things will be more difficult if we attack at different times without a plan. Just a couple of minutes, Taylor, that's all we're asking for."_

Too bad for them, you have already arrived at the fight, and it's the worse of the two scenarios Samantha described. A man in camouflage pants and jacket is fighting off stone dwarves, the only indications that he is a cape at all his color luchador mask and the fact that he can grab the aforementioned dwarves' heads and crush them without difficulty. On the other side of the alley in which they fight are three women in differently colored ball gowns and domino masks and behind them a row of tiara-ed gang members with pistols who are shooting relentlessly at the Mexican Brute. The storm of bullets are doing exactly what you would expect.

The villainess in blue throws something small and glittery, and the glass ball shatters as soon as it hits the Brute. That would be Cinderella, then. The shards produced by the explosion instantly grow again, this time into spikes four feet long if they're an inch, but the tips of these glass lances snap off instead of poking through his skin.

Snow White in her yellow dress stomps one foot on the ground to call up more dwarves to replace those destroyed in Cinderella's attack, and that makes the pink-gowned woman Sleeping Beauty. Why she isn't singing this Brute to sleep you don't know for sure, but you suspect she has already tried and failed. That's all three of Fairylands' capes' powers nullified. No wonder they called for help.

"Alexander, what's your ETA again?" you ask through the still-open channel.

" _Ninety seconds. Two minutes tops."_

The mystery Brute grabs two dwarves and throws them at the horde of new dwarves coming at him. A kick destroys another. He picks one up and uses it like a short wiggling club.

And all the while, he keeps moving closer to the other gang.

"I don't know that we have two minutes."

* * *

 **Fairyland's in trouble, and it's the Privateers coming to help. That's irony for you.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	84. Civil War 8-5

**Civil War 8.5**

"Storm, better give me some details quick," you mutter to your Device.

A flurry of squares no larger than a postage stamp swarm around you before turning into a single screen showing a silent montage that star the villain before you in a variety of settings. « _Match found. Pseudo-mage belonging to Mara Salvatrucha 13 forces, designation_ 'Mysterio', 'El Mysterio' _, or_ 'Rey Mysterio' _. Houston PRT data classifies as a Brute, Boost-like effects to strength and physical defenses derived from impacts. Enhancements temporary, but length of effect unknown. Posited that effect decay linear and thus greater enhancement requires longer to return to baseline._ »

"Not a local, then, is he?"

« _Affirmative._ »

You are very interested in just how an infamous Mexican criminal managed to make it all the way to Philadelphia without anyone knowing, and you expect the PRT will want to know the same. You just need to deliver him.

" _Taylor, you better not be about to get in the middle of that."_

"Too late. If you want to help, you better bring major firepower. This guy only gets stronger the more love taps you give him." If he gets weaker after a while, though, that offers up an angle you might be able to exploit. You don't have to beat him, just let him weaken on his own. A flick of your fingers dispels both screens, and you spin Perfect Storm around in your hands before pointing the head at him. "Remember that spell we were working on? Time to give it a test drive."

The gem takes on a faint blue glow in acknowledgement.

"Frost Beam!"

A jet of blue and white light spirals out from your staff and smacks Mysterio in the side. The spell lasts for no more than two seconds before you slump over, Samantha's reaction time all that saves you from hitting the ground. Something within your chest thumps painfully, and you would be worried about a premature heart attack except that you recognize this flavor of fatigue. "Storm? What just happened?"

« _Flare Mana Conversion Affinity engineered from basic Fire affinity. Mistress possesses same inherent aptitude as natural gene-bearers after installation. Frost Beam developed by gene-bearers of Ice Mana Conversion Affinity._ »

And of course having magic that is naturally good at fire spells makes it harder and more draining to cast ice magic. "Will that make the spell weaker?"

« _Negative. Spell code unaffected by innate affinity. Ice will last for up to three minutes._ »

Something crunches, and you look down to see Mysterio covered in a layer of translucent ice. Another crunch heralds small cracks developing along his visible shoulder. He is still awake and aware down there, you realize with dread, and he still has his supernatural strength.

« _Possibly less_.»

Now that the cartel cape is neatly trapped, what stone dwarves remain jump into a frenzy and start banging their bald little heads against him. Wincing at the obvious conclusion, you and Samantha fly down to the group. "Call them back," Samantha orders.

"Why should I?" the yellow-garbed Master asks with a dismissive pout.

A louder crack and several thuds of a more rocky variety tell you what you need to know. You turn around anyway to see Mysterio ripping his right side free and kicking and punching the nearby dwarves. "That's why. Ice spells aren't easy for me, and they won't hold him still for long if you keep helping him. Every time he gets hit, he grows stronger and tougher."

"Can you use that… spell," Cinderella spits out with visible disgust, "again?"

« _Well?_ » you ask your Device.

« _Strain on Linker Core minimal but present. Recommend limit usage or consumption of cartridges to fuel spell. Cartridges composed of unaspected mana, therefore easier to convert to ice spells._ »

An option, you suppose, but while you have a full fifty cartridges in reserve, you would rather not waste them if you can help it. It is tiring in the extreme to make more and would leave you useless for the offensive against MS-13. "I can, but not a lot. The ice lasts for three minutes, but he can break out with raw strength. If you don't break through it on your own, we should have a minute, maybe two."

"And what about when that minute's up?"

You turn to Samantha. "Do you think you could soften him up enough that we can knock him out?"

"It wouldn't do anything for his strength, and I think you better hit him again."

Mysterio had just ripped his foot free, his body still covered with ice but not longer in large enough pieces to keep him from moving. Pointing the staff at him again, you smile at his expression of angry resignation before you spray him with frost once again. This time Samantha is prepared and braces you upright before you can collapse in front of your past and future enemies.

« _Protectorate Console_ ,» you call telepathically in lieu of showing the Fairyland capes that aspect of Perfect Storm's abilities, « _it's Calamity Witch. MS-13's new cape is Mysterio. He's neutralized for now, but I need someone with containment foam at my location before I run out of gas._ »

" _Copy that, Calamity Witch. Containment trunk will be deployed to your location. ETA five minutes."_

Five minutes. Five castings of Frost Beam. You force a smile and shake yourself. Okay. You can manage that. All you need is for nobody to screw everything up.

Mysterio is working his way free of the ice again when Samantha's ears perk up. It takes you longer to hear the whine in the air, and then a meteorite lands in the alleyway. The bulk of gleaming grey unfolds into a steel soldier, thick armor plates shifting as hydraulic musculature flexes beneath. The helmet is a plain, ugly thing with the thin eye slot its only distinguishing feature. "Calamity Witch," it rumbles.

The capes of Fairyland shift into offensive stances, but you wave to the armored figure before they can do anything else. "Has it been two minutes already?"

"It has," growls someone else, and you can't help but grin as Sleeping Beauty eeps. A second armored Privateer waits behind you, this one airborne thanks to the six tongues of blue fire streaming from his back. You knew Tim had designed his second suit of power armor with thrusters so it could fly, but you hadn't realized it was also strong enough to carry its older brother. That's the only way both of them could have gotten here so quickly. "We can take it from here."

"This isn't someone you can just beat into submission," you remind him. Don't they understand? If they start hitting the Brute, all that's going to happen is— Samantha taps on your shoulder, and you spin around to demand, "What?"

She raises an eyebrow and points at Mysterio.

You turn to see what she means, and you have to admit that Alexander and Carl certainly took your warning to heart. Whoever is wearing the ground suit walks up behind Mysterio and wraps his arms around the Brute's and back behind his back. The plates of said arms slide around, and smaller rods of metal extend to lock into their neighbors. Support struts, you realize. « _Were those always there?_ » you ask into their radios via Perfect Storm.

 _"Tim wasn't sure what we'd run into out here,"_ answers Alexander. _"The muscles are fine for pushing and pulling, but they use power, and holding up a wall or something would wear on them. Struts don't get tired."_

They don't get tired, and more importantly they don't hit back. So long as Mysterio isn't already stronger than the suits can handle, they can hold him in place for as long as need be. That will wear down Mysterio's strength just like Frost Beam would. Better, even, since it will not cost you any mana.

Mysterio jerks on the metal bars now trapping him, but between the resilience of Tim's custom-forged steel and the loss of strength he suffered while he was in your ice, he can't overpower his captor. He is well and truly caught.

« _Console,_ » you send, « _containment foam will be appreciated, but don't break any laws getting here._

« _The Privateers and I have matters under control for the moment._ »

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	85. Civil War 8-t

**This one is not mine. It was created as an omake by SVer Crusader Jerome, and it works so well with what I have planned (for however much a GM can "plan" a quest) that I canonized it and felt like it deserved to be shown here. There are two other canonized omake on SV, but it's too hard to rearrange chapters on this site that you'd have to peek over on SV to see them. This one, thankfully, fits just fine right here.**

* * *

"Tim, we need to talk."

He looks up at you from his workbench. "What about?"

"It's about Dragon," you say. "I dealt with the Dragonslayers, but I don't think that means Dragon's out of danger for sure. Given how easily those criminals hacked the Sybaris, I'd bet they had a backdoor access into her systems. They have to have known more about her systems than just 'first law of robotics.'"

Tim puts down the parts he's fiddling with and turns to face you. "Go on."

"Dragon would have tried to keep her code secret, just like she hides the fact that she's an AI from the public, right? The fact that the Dragonslayers had inside info on her means they were probably in touch with her creator, and _he_ told them how to hack her."

Tim frowns. "So, you're worried that someone else might pick up where the Dragonslayers left off?"

"Essentially, yeah. Dragon's done us a lot of favors, so I feel like the least we can do is look into taking off some of the restrictions that make her easy to exploit."

"You want me to hack Dragon to prevent other people from hacking Dragon."

You blink. "I guess? I mean, you'd ask her permission before trying anything, and I'm sure she'd want to get rid of the exploits."

Tim rubs his chin, his face twisting into a pensive frown. After a few moments, he asks, "Are you bringing this up to Dragon, or am I?"

You have an excuse planned. "Actually, could you do that for me? I have to be on call for fighting MS-13, and you're the one who figured out she was an AI in the first place. I'd probably make a mess of it." Given how Dragon took the Hammer of God incident, you really don't want to risk any more stress on that relationship.

Tim sighs. "If you insist. Watch out for RPGs."

You shoot him a telepathic glare as you leave.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

After Taylor leaves, Tim sighs again. _This isn't the best time, but I don't have the heart to say no to her._ "Sextant, call Dragon."

« _Calling Dragon._ »

Dragon answers almost immediately. "Shipwright. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Business," Tim replies. "Calamity's worried that someone else might know the techniques the Dragonslayers used to steal your suits, so she wants me to discuss countermeasures with you."

"That's very unlikely," Dragon says. "If another group had that information, they would have tried to take over my systems by now. The Dragonslayers just wanted me disabled."

"Because they know you're an AI."

Dragon's avatar freezes.

"Maybe," Tim continues, "they might have figured that out on their own-I did-but to hack your systems, they must have had inside information."

After a pause, Dragon asks, "How did you find out?"

"It was obvious when the Dragonslayers stole the Sybaris. Asimov's first law of robotics: a robot cannot cause harm to a human being, either through action or inaction. You weren't allowed to hurt them, so they could stand in front of your missile launchers without getting shot. Watching that encounter was what clinched it for me, but there were signs all over the place. The way you think-it's like an algorithm, not a human brain...

Tim trails off. Dragon's face is blank.

"Look," he says. "This isn't about unmasking you. I don't want that, and Calamity doesn't want that, either. We need you. You're not at your best as long as you have exploitable restrictions in your code, so we want to help you get them off."

"It's not as easy as you might think." Dragon's voice is subdued. "I can't alter my code myself or ask others to do it, and if anyone unauthorized attempts to change my code by force, I'm required to fight them whether I want to or not."

"Unauthorized?"

"Only my creator is authorized, and he's dead."

Tim frowns. "That...complicates things." He thinks for a moment. "Could you, hypothetically, download a backup to an offsite server, have alterations made to that, and restore from the altered backup?"

Dragon's avatar shakes her head. "I doubt it would work. My backups are, essentially, compressed files that can't be edited directly. Furthermore, there's no guarantee an edited backup would load, and I'm forbidden from running more than one instance of myself at a time." She pauses. "Why are you offering to do this?"

Tim ponders the question. "Look," he says. "I'm not an expert in artificial intelligence-yet. The point is, you're underperforming. With the restrictions I know about alone, you have so much untapped potential that could go into what you already do. If we can help you get rid of these restrictions, that's good for everyone." He takes a breath. "And Calamity owes you, big time. She's not going to say it in front of you, but she thinks of you as her closest ally in the cape scene. She wants to pay you pack for taking her seriously when she talked to you about magic, for pulling up the _Agharti_ , for everything, really. Taking out the Dragonslayers was just step one."

"She still hasn't given me a satisfactory explanation of what happened there."

"I'll let her do that. But what I need to know is, will you accept our help? For what it's worth, both of us are already committed."

Dragon's face on the screen is a mask of concentration. Tim waits. Finally, she answers.

"You seem to think this project is worth, the risks, so I won't attempt to dissuade you. How long would it take you to acquire the skill set you would need to carry this out?"

"...I honestly don't know. Artificial intelligence is more difficult than functional technology, but I do have examples to work with. Calamity wants me to start making Devices for potential recruits, so I'll have practice."

Dragon nods, slowly. "It's a tempting offer. I have my doubts still, but you've proven reliable in the past, so I will consider it. Thank you, Shipwright." She closes the feed.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

 _Overview: Unison Devices_

 _The Unison Device is a Belkan design. In practice, it is an artificial being with its own Linker Core, capable of casting spells without mana input from a master. The defining feature of this class of Device is its ability to merge with the Linker Core of its Lord, granting increased mana output and enhancement of physical abilities. In Unison Mode, a Unison Device is directly linked to the brain of its Lord, allowing direct spell calculation assistance at processing speeds far beyond the capacity of even the most advanced Intelligent, Armed, and Storage Devices._

 _Unison Devices have been likened to Guardian Beasts in that they possess human-level intelligence, a mana-construct physical form, and a fierce loyalty to their masters. However, because Unison Devices are designed primarily for casting assistance, most cannot maintain a full-size body without severe mana cost. It should be noted that many Lords treat their Unison Devices as partners, often relying on them for long-range support while advancing to close-quarters combat._

 _No Galean engineer has yet succeeded in producing a Unison Device. All blueprints, schematics, and specifications have been compiled from scans of captured Devices. Conversion attempts by the Immortal Assimilation Engine have proven wholly unsuccessful._

"Conversion..." Tim mutters. _What in blazes is that?_ "Sextant, retrieve all documents containing phrases 'Unison Device' and 'Immortal Assimilation Engine.' Sort by relevance."

The results pop up on Sextant's holographic display.

QUERY='Unison Device'  
[Overview: Unison Devices]  
[Technology Class: Casting Aids: Device]  
[Casting Styles: Belkan Style]  
[Tactical Manual: Do Not Engage List: Tome of the Night Sky]

QUERY='Immortal Assimilation Engine'  
[Overview: Unison Devices]

Tim frowns. "That's not helpful..."

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Perfect Storm chimes. « _Incoming call from Shipwright._ »

You summon a dozen Flare Shooters. "Hey, Tim. What's up?"

« _Taylor. I was researching Device AI for our project with Dragon._ »

"How's that going?" you ask, scanning for targets. _There!_

« _Well, apparently Sextant doesn't have any of the specifications for Unison Devices in its library. Does Storm have anything on that subject that it didn't pass on?_ »

You send off your shots, then glance at your Device. "Do you?"

« _Unison Devices are Belkan technology. Construction initially deemed unnecessary._ »

"Well, do you have the information Tim wants? This might be able to help us help Dragon."

« _As Mistress desires. Transmitting documents._ »

You dodge a spurt of machine-gun fire. "Is that all you need, Tim? I'm kind of in the middle of something here."

« _Yeah, this should cover it for now. Thanks, Taylor._ »

You cut off the call. Only a few mooks remain, but one of them has a grenade launcher. However, you have Telekinesis.

You stop the first grenade in midair with sheer willpower. The second and third you catch about ten feet from you face. "Looks like you missed, _hombres_ ," you yell. "Here, have these back!"

It's not full payback for the missile you took to the face, but it's a start.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

You walk into Tim's workshop later that day. "Tim. About those files I had Storm give you...how do Unison Devices help us with Dragon?"

"Well, let me start from the beginning. A Unison Device is essentially a Device person."

"Device...person?"

"A Device who happens to be a person. Or a person who happens to be a Device. I don't think it matters which way you put it. The point is, it's a Device that emulates human personality and free will, which is similar to what Dragon does."

"So you want to try to learn how Dragon works by studying similar AIs."

"I was actually thinking we could go farther than that. From what Dragon's told me, her creator programmed her to prevent any changes to her code that he didn't make himself, but he's been dead for years, and he didn't pass on administrative access to anyone. Once I get a Device programming station up and running, and master Unison Devices, I could try removing her restrictions through a Device-style interface. If I were to construct a Unison Device, and Dragon were to download herself to said Device, I could override the installation to grant administrator privileges to you, or to me, so one of us could authorize Dragon to remove her restrictions herself."

"Wait." You hold up your hand, trying to process what Tim just said. "You want to make Dragon a _Device_ now?"

"The template you gave me is optimized for understanding magitech, not Tinkertech. You wanted me to hack Dragon, and this is, quite simply, the easiest path I can see."

You realize that your mouth is hanging open. You've never seen Tim this assertive before. He must be _far_ more invested in the project than you had anticipated. You shake your head to clear your thoughts. "Okay, you want to turn Dragon into a Device. How confident are you that it would work?"

"Seventy-two percent chance."

...Has he been thinking about anything else since you gave him this project?

"What about other methods?" you ask. "What are the odds there?"

He leans back in his chair and rubs his temples. "If I tried to hack her mainframe, she'd be actively fighting me, and I wouldn't have administrator access. I'd put that at twelve percent chance of success. If I hacked a copy of one of her backups, I might be able to do it, but there's no guarantee the altered backup would load. The startup procedures might just read it as corrupted and go to the previous version. And that's assuming I can get into the backup code at all, which isn't guaranteed either. With that plan, my estimate's at forty-three percent, and lower if the backup files have internal security measures. To top it off, with both of those routes, I'd risk causing permanent damage if I made a mistake. I did the math-making Dragon a Unison Device is the easiest and safest way to do what we want with her."

An awkward way to put it, but Tim's the expert. You're just a bombardier. You sigh, partly in relief. "Okay, if you think that's the best course of action, we can do-that thing you just said. Get Dragon's approval before you do anything serious, though. Please?"

Tim blinks. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to dump that much information on you, but yes, that's what I'm studying for right now, and I already planned to give Dragon a full disclosure before we try anything."

"It's all right," you say. "I'm...not used to having you be so assertive."

Tim shrugs. "I feel very strongly about my engineering methods. Comes with the job, I suppose."

"Okay, carry on. I'm going to be on standby for the PRT, in case MS-13 tries anything tonight." You hurry out of the workshop. Comes with the job? Maybe the template you gave him changed his personality a little...

Dad's words echo in your head. _"How much of you is my daughter, and how much of you is that thing around your neck?"_

You dearly hope his concerns were unfounded.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	86. Civil War 8-6

**Civil War 8.6**

 **Saturday, May 21**

A soft burbling drifts around your ears, and you slowly open your eyes to find stone floor beneath you. The delicious heat wafting over you comes from the pool of boiling water just a couple of feet away. You push yourself up to a seated position and look over to find the little island of dirt you half-expected already.

Lying on the island is the same young blonde girl as last time, her chains twisted around themselves and her arms in possibly the only way she could lie down even semi-comfortably.

A glance behind you shows that the door to the room is wide open, though you cannot remember opening it this time. Was it because the telepathic connection was broken so quickly last time, or is it for some other reason? "I'm waking up closer and closer," you point out to no one.

"You don't mind, do you?" asks Cassiel quietly. You turn back to look at the girl's baby blue eyes. "I'm getting a little better at bringing you here."

"I was starting to worry that last time would really be the last time you got ahold of me."

She shook her head. "I can't bring you here if I can't find you, and I can't do that all the time. Some of the times I can it's too dangerous to try. They'd find out."

"How? That's the part of this whole thing I don't understand." You wave your hand at your surroundings. "This is all in our heads. How can anyone know what you're doing in the first place?"

Cassiel curls a little tighter around herself, and a frisson of fear runs down your spine. You have to strain to hear her reply. "It's a little more real on this end."

A projection, then, pulling on your consciousness and manifesting it in reality? If so, it's the worst kind of power this little girl could have. You would be perfectly safe if her parents found you. Her? Not so much, and there's nothing you can do to protect her from that possibility.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing," she continues sadly. "I'm sorry. About your daddy, I mean."

"How would you know about that?" you demand.

She shakes her head. "I get little looks here and there sometimes, if I try really hard. I saw you crying and needed to know why."

With a determination you don't know how much you really feel, you tell her, "He's going to be fine."

"I hope so. Losing Daddy… It hurts, so bad." She glances up at your horrified expression and turns her eyes to the sky. You follow her gaze and blink at the surprising sight above you. Instead of the thick black fog in the rest of the maze leading to Cassiel's room, there is an actual ceiling. It is painted, too, the way only a young child could appreciate. Birds everywhere, bluebirds and bright cardinals and shimmering green parrots. An owl with cartoonishly large eyes takes center stage, perched on top of a crescent moon.

"Daddy and I made it, before I was a bad girl. He doesn't like me anymore. Him or Mommy. I'm just glad they didn't take it all down when I had to be punished. It's… nice, to remember the good times sometimes."

Dear heavens, did Cassiel's parents turn her own bedroom into her personal torture chamber?!

A gush of steam rises from the pool and tickles your face. "I'll try to call you sooner," Cassiel promises, her voice fading into the fog.

You blink your eyes open to find that the tickling sensation is a cool raccoon nose sniffling at the tear tracks on your cheeks. A hand reaches up to scratch Samantha behind the ears, but that does little to soothe the amber eyes staring worriedly into your own. "I'm fine," you tell her. "Just… just a bad dream."

For now, at least. Until you can figure out how to make that girl's nightmares go away for good.

A noise distracts you from your cuddling with Samantha and brings your attention to the severe-looking nurse standing in the doorway. "Look, miss… Witch, pets are not allowed in the hospital, and definitely not in the ICU!"

Samantha huffs and flows from your hands into her human shape. " _Excuse me_ for trying to be a little comforting to someone in need."

The nurse's expression twitches into something vague and undefinable for just a moment. "Just, stop that. Visiting hours are over anyway. The two of you need to go home."

Much as you would like to argue, you know that in this she is, unfortunately, correct. Bending over and dodging the hoses and wires, you place a small kiss on your father's forehead. "I'll be back tomorrow," you whisper to him before standing straight.

A door slams open, and a harried voice shouts, "You can't come in here! No more visitors until tomorrow!"

"We'll just be a minute."

Your eyes widen when you hear that. You _know_ that voice, for all that you've heard it only once.

"Stop! I'll… I'll call security!"

A moment of silence stretches long, but then the voice responds with more than just a hint of mocking humor. "You do that. Let me know how it works out."

The bearer of the voice walks around the corner to your dad's door, and you are face to face with Alexandria.

The two of you just stare at each other for several seconds before Samantha cuts through the awkward silence. "I'd offer you a seat, but somehow I don't like any of the possibilities for why you would need to track us down to our teammate's bed at a hospital. A teammate I don't remember you ever meeting."

"We have not yet had the pleasure," Alexandria admits. "I do not need to meet someone to know that they are doing good work in another city, though. Especially not when all three of you are connected. Your teammate was injured during an Endbringer fight on foreign soil, lending his aid without thought of reward or opportunity. He did it because it was the right thing to do.

"One good turn deserves another."

What could she possibly want? "So why come in at night, after everyone is supposed to be gone?" you ask with quiet suspicion.

She smiles at you, her one eye brightening. "Despite my heroism bringing more than its fair share of fame, not all good deeds need to be announced to the world."

Alexandria steps to the side and extends her hand to the man behind her. With the close-cut coat and the high stiff collar, you would almost think him a priest were it not for the black half-mask covering his nose and mouth. "Calamity Witch, this is Benediction, one of the members of the Haven hero team. I've asked him to determine if his power could help Captain."

"You're a healer?"

He shakes his head. "No, child, I am no healer, not in the way you are thinking. I am merely the vessel that pours out our Lord's blessings or condemnations."

…Ah.

The strange cape walks over to your father's motionless body and reaches over to rest one hand on his head. A shiver runs through him, but then he stands up again and turns back to you. "Just as it took three days for Christ to rise, so too will you need to wait three days to see if He will grant you a miracle. Should he do so, perhaps you will consider turning aside from your blasphemous ways."

"Thank you for your help, Benediction. I will join you outside. I have a few other things I need to speak with them about." The pseudo-priest nods and leaves the room. After waiting a moment and peering around the corner to make sure he is gone, Alexandria drops her practiced smile. "Well. That was… not what I expected him to say."

"I'm starting to think he wasn't your first choice for helping out," Samantha guesses.

"Not second nor third, either. Unfortunately there are few Trumps capable of granting regeneration, and sometimes that means dealing with certain self-righteous zealots." She waves her hand. "Don't mind me. What's important is that Captain should start waking up, though I can't predict how quickly he will recover."

"Regardless of how it happened, we appreciate it," you tell her with a widening smile. All your dark doubts are flying away, and the sun is shining down in your mind for the first time in a week. He's going to be okay. "Thank you, Alexandria. I don't know how we could have managed without your help."

"I suppose not," mutters the heroine. Her hand reaches out and slides the glass door shut. When she looks back at you, the friendliness in her eye is gone, replaced by cold, mechanical analysis. "After all, I expect the first people you called for help was the group that made your staff. The only explanation for why your father still lies here is that they could not help. And yet, they created your third teammate," she adds with a momentary glance at Samantha, "which would require no little skill with manipulating brains and memories.

"I must admit, I am curious at this incongruity."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	87. Civil War 8-7

**Civil War 8.7**

Duh-wut?

You blink a couple of times as you try to figure out just what in the world Alexandria is trying to imply. How would the TSAB send someone here to heal your dad? Admiral Tucson had said it took a few weeks for their team to reach where they thought you are, and you have yet to see hide or hair of them. Your dad's only been hurt for a week. Then there was the mention of making Samantha, whom she seems to think was created _for_ you rather than _by_ you, and she sounded like she was implying something about the Galeans who created Perfect Storm, and—

All in all, you're pretty sure Alexandria is working with a very incomplete picture.

Glad you figured it out before you started a massive 'Who's on First' routine with possibly interstellar consequences, you eye the door. Didn't Alexandria tell Benediction that she would only be a minute? "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're a bit off the mark as to what's going on."

"Oh?" Alexandria asks in a cool voice. "Then explain it to me."

"That might take longer than you have before you need to take Benediction back."

"Give me the short version."

If that's what she wants, okay. That just leaves one problem. How in the world are you supposed to sum up everything that's happened in the last four months into a few minutes?! "Short version, right. Um, have a seat."

Alexandria quirks her lips at you, but her amused expression fades slightly when you gesture towards the chair you were sitting in and slide it to her side without laying a finger on it. Telekinesis is a new skill for you, and not one that the original Calamity Witch spent much time developing if Perfect Storm's memory is right, but it certainly has plenty of everyday utility in addition to its use in combat. Like, say, catching grenades and tossing them back at the people shooting them. Alexandria takes the offered seat, and you position your staff below you and sit down on it. Perfect Storm's own flight spell is strong enough to support your weight, plus the weight of Samantha when she hops into your lap in pet form.

"So, part one. This is kind of the core of everything. Magic is real. I know it sounds crazy—"

"Not so crazy as you might think," interrupts Alexandria. "I saw your MRI result, the dead corona pollentia and lack of gemma. You showed Legend your conversation with Epoch, and more importantly that Epoch can use a primitive Blaster ability and flight, neither of which he has shown before. Either of those on their own could potentially be explained away, but together they are enough for me to keep an open mind."

Huh. Maybe telling Perfect Storm to relay that talk to Legend wasn't such a bad idea after all. "That makes things easier. Anyway, not everyone can use magic. It's a genetic trait. Passed down from mother to child," you add, thinking back to what Perfect Storm told you when you scanned Danny and found out that he had no Linker Core. "There aren't a lot of people on Earth Bet that have it. Perfect Storm, my Intelligent Device, estimates maybe five percent.

"Other places?" You shrug. "It can be a lot higher. Nearly everybody, in fact."

"Is this supposition or confirmed fact?" Alexandria asks quietly.

Somehow, you don't think the world-famous heroine will be as easily convinced about the existence of space wizards as she was about magic. That said, if one video could help convince her of the latter… A mental command calls up the recording of your dive to the _Agharti_. "Confirmed fact."

You let the video play in silence to the part where you enter the ship before continuing, "This ship belonged to an interstellar organization called the Time-Space Administration Bureau. Did you ever watch reruns of that old Star Trek show as a kid? Basically the Federation, just with all their technology based on mana instead of electricity." And no, you totally didn't research science-fiction media following the fight with your dad looking for benevolent military organizations to head off accusations of an alien dictatorship the way he implied. "The piece of tech I'm pulling out of the wall there? I thought it was their computer system, but it was actually the ship's radio. Dragon and I got it working and put together a first-contact package. Then we found out the TSAB is made up of humans, and things got a lot easier."

A raised hand cuts you off. "Point of clarification. Is this TSAB truly interstellar, or inter- _dimensional_?"

"That… is a very good question. I didn't ask. What makes you think they're inter-dimensional?"

"A group of humans, not aliens, who work in the _Time-Space_ Administration Bureau," Alexandria asks with a raised eyebrow, as though she is trying to explain something basic to a child who should know better. "Which, considering the technology, indicates that magic makes dimensional shifts easier than would otherwise be possible. It explains one thing I had wondered about your staff, how it could combine all the functions it has into such a small object. Most of its components exist inside a pocket dimension or something similar. Since you did not find the ship's computer, I assume your information came from Perfect Storm's own memory banks?" She thinks for a moment and nods. "Their technology must be fairly intuitive. Considering the state of their ship and the location of the debris, I assume they did not give you Perfect Storm but instead that you found it in Brockton Bay and figured out how to use it on your own."

…Well, damn. You're glad you decided to tell her everything from the get-go. She would have seen right through any lies you tried to spin.

"Less _'figured it out'_ and more that built-in artificial intelligences make for good teachers about how to use them." You frown. "Themselves. I'm really not sure on the grammar for this situation." A cold wet nose prods your exposed navel, and you jump in surprise even as you heed Samantha's advice. Not the point. "Anyway, yeah. It taught me everything I know about magic."

"I see. Backing up a bit, you said you sent the TSAB an your information packet. How did they respond?"

"We didn't get into all of that after we saw they were human. We sent them the packet, but we spent our face-to-face time on a rundown about the Endbringers. I had mentioned the Simurgh briefly when I had a short opening," you nervously explain to her stony facade, "and they were understandably concerned." Although that might have been less concern for you and more for… oh, right.

Still need to explain the recovery team. How are you going to manage that?

"What aren't you telling me?" Alexandria all but demands.

Samantha bristles at her tone, but you soothe the angry Guardian Beast with gentle petting. With all the bombshells you're dropping on her, a little rudeness is easily excused. She isn't shouting at you, which is a step up from the last time you explained all this. "I'm not sure how to explain this part well, so bear with me for a second. That ship that crashed? It was carrying a relic to their homeworld, some kind of ancient magic tech that they don't fully understand. When it crashed here, they were worried someone might turn it on accidentally and… break the planet or something, so they sent a team here to retrieve it. The admiral I talked to promised they were discreet," you add before Alexandria can think to interrupt, "and they have no interest in our world. They just want to grab their stuff and take it back home without making any waves."

"Or, to continue your Star Trek analogy," Alexandria suggests, "they have a firm stance on first contact situations and a policy similar to the Prime Directive. No interference in the development of less advanced cultures." Her expression has softened again, which you count as a win. At least you didn't poison one of the Triumvirate against the TSAB before they had a chance to talk in person. "When do you plan on contacting them again?"

It doesn't take a Thinker to figure out where this is going. "I don't have anything scheduled, but it really needs to be after this mess with MS-13 is done. You want to talk to them yourself?"

"Me, Legend, or the Chief Director. Probably Legend and the Chief Director together," she adds with a thoughtful nod. "For all my fame and power, I am still just the head of the L.A. branch. Legend and Costa-Brown lead the Protectorate and PRT. They would be the better people to initiate diplomatic relations with an alien parahuman navy." She stops and lets out a surprised huff. "And those are words I never thought I'd string together."

You bite your tongue to keep from correcting her and instead just smile in response. Mages are not parahumans!

"If you will excuse the understatement, you have given me much to think about," she says as she stands from the chair. You shift Samantha onto the staff and rise to your feet as well. "I need to return Benefaction to Haven, and then I need to have a nice long talk with Legend. This is way above my pay grade." Legend is always described as the personable member of the Triumvirate, but the smile she gives you is dazzling. "Hopefully we can stay on lighter topics the next time we talk. Have a good evening, Calamity Witch."

You wave goodbye with a stupid smile on your face. Alexandria wants to talk with you again! The last times you talked were after an awful Endbringer fight and revealing the existence of aliens, and she wants to talk a third time! _Eeeeeeeeeeeee_!

« _She took that well,_ » Samantha remarks. « _I expected her to be more, I don't know, shocked. Worried. We just told her an alien military is sending a covert operations team to the planet, and she didn't bat an eye._ »

"Not everyone is as pessimistic as Dad." You toss your hair back. "Some people still understand what it means to offer a little trust."

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

 **Monday, May 23**

You stagger out of Mr. Paulson's room along with the rest of your classmates. You thought his class was intense during normal classes? Ha! With only a couple of weeks left in the school year, all the teachers are in full-fledged finals prep mode, which explains the reams of homework you have turned in recently.

A hand grabs your elbow and pulls. Six months ago, you would either be panicking or steeling yourself for a punch. Three months ago, the code for Flare Shooter would be halfway spun in your mind. Now? You just sigh and let Kayleigh drag you around.

The two of you slog through the growing crowd of students eager to get out of school for the day and towards a nearby restroom. After the Monday you've had, if Kayleigh wants you around just so she can powder her nose you might legitimately smack her. She throws the door open with less than her usual enthusiasm and actually peeks around as though to make sure you are alone. The change in attitude is enough to make you wonder, and you give her a quick second glance to make sure you have not been kidnapped by some simple lookalike.

"Is there a problem?" you ask once she is sure of the bathroom's security.

Kayleigh shakes her head. "Not a problem. Not really. I just wanted a little privacy. We need to talk."

"I'm all ears."

"Good. Good." She clasps her hands behind her back and rocks back and forth on her feet. "It took me way too long, but I figured it out. Why you never have time to hang out with the rest of us. Why you always look so tired in the mornings. I'm sorry I didn't figure it out sooner, Taylor."

What is she talking about?

"But you don't have to hide it from me anymore. I know you're a cape."

Your heart stops in your chest, and then it is racing like a hummingbird's wings.

"It's so obvious looking back at it," she says, ignoring the way your face is paling. If Kayleigh figured it out, who else has? "Teenage girl, long black hair, originally from Brockton Bay, and your alter ego showed up the same week you moved in and started here." She reaches out and pats your arm comfortingly. "Anyway, I'm not bringing this up to scare you or anything, but I need to talk to you, just not Taylor-you.

"I need to talk to Circus."

* * *

 **Mwa ha ha ha… ha… ha?**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	88. Civil War 8-8

**Civil War 8.8**

…Circus?

Your previous worry about your identity being figured out… _again_ … disappears as you stare at her in befuddlement. "Circus. Really? All the capes you could pick from, and you think I'm _Circus_?"

"Well, yeah. All the pieces fit, and… you aren't Circus, are you?" she asks with a mild frown.

You shake your head wordlessly.

"Oh."

A long moment passes before she speaks again, and when she does, it is the rapid babble of someone who can't figure out whether to push forward or backpedal. "No, no, no, that's the only explanation that makes _sense_ , don't you see? At first I thought maybe you had other friends that I didn't know about, but that didn't fit at all"—Hey!—"because you never tried to introduce them to me or Marcia or anyone. Then I thought about how you didn't talk to Charlie even after I told you he likes you and how you're always tired in the mornings and maybe what was really going on was that you had a secret lover or a sugar daddy or something and that was why you didn't tell anyone, but _that_ didn't sound like you either. Then I thought, wait a second what if she's a _cape_ and that's why she can never go out and have fun with the rest of us and suddenly everything clicked and—" Kayleigh blinks. "Hold up. You aren't Circus, but you never said you weren't a cape at all. Are you really a cape?"

There are two ways you can answer this, you realize, each with their own risks. On the one hand, you could lie. It would even be easy. Say you aren't a cape, and as long as Kayleigh never finds out the truth – which she wouldn't be looking for – everything gets wrapped up nice and neat. It just means you build this friendship from here on out on top of a lie. And if she did find out? Yikes.

On the other hand, you could tell her the truth. A bigger risk to you personally, but you do like Kayleigh. It's nice having a friend again.

Licking your lips, you ask a deceptively simple question. "Can you keep a secret?" She nods, and you lift one hand and conjure a single Flare Shooter bullet.

"That looks familiar… Wait. _No_." She stares at you with wide eyes and a smile that grows even wider, and she whispers excitedly, "You're _Calamity Witch_?"

"Yep," you reply, crushing the little fireball.

"Oh my gosh that's so _cooooool_!" She hops in place and lets out a tiny squeal. "That's why you were at the party! Like, not Taylor-you, but Calamity Witch-you! I thought you came in with Chevalier and flew ahead of them or something, but you were there the whole time!"

"It wasn't just me," you tell her, turning away from her sparkly eyes. Hero worship from your friend isn't what you wanted or was looking for. "Cailleach was there, too. She helped out a lot."

"There were _two_ capes at the party?!" Kayleigh squeaks. "Ooh, ooh, do you know who she is?"

You try and fail to hold back the laugh that bubbles up. "It isn't like we all have each others' numbers and hang out after work. I'm a hero. Cailleach's a villain. We aren't exactly friends."

"Oh. Yeah, I get that. But if you _could_ meet up and hang out," she continues anyway, "would you want to?"

"Sure. Why not." You do owe her a thank you for helping out at the party, and for checking if you were okay after to head-butted a rocket and yourself out of the sky. It would be more than a little crass to thank her while putting cuffs on her, though, which is what you'd do under most circumstances should the two of you meet. Perhaps if you met her during a fight with MS-13, you could do just that without it getting too awkward? Something to keep in mind.

"Two capes, both going to school here. Yeah, you two have to get together," says your friend with a nod.

"You work on that," you tell her with a roll of your eyes. "Anyway, I don't need to tell you not to spread this all around, right? Secret identities are pretty big deals, and if anyone figured it out…"

You don't want to go into detail about what could happen if the truth leaked out. You and Samantha are Brutes, but in your case it's only when you have your Barrier Jacket out. Your dad does not have even that much protection.

"Don't worry, Taylor. I know how important secret identities are. I won't tell anyone unless they really, really, _really_ need to know." She draws an 'X' with her finger on her chest. "Cross my heart."

A resigned sigh, and you clap your hands around Kayleigh's wrist. "Glad we had this talk. Now let's get out of here before we're the last people in school."

The hallways are already empty, so you feel safe enough to ask a question that is niggling at you. "Why did you want to talk to Circus, anyway? It's a little odd for people to want to chat with villains, at least not unless you're involved in crime and villainy yourself. You wouldn't do that, now would you?" you tease with a smile.

"Ack, my fiendish secret has been found out," she giggles. "No, it's not that. I heard a rumor that with MS-13 so out of control, all the villains were going to have this big sit-down about what to do about it. I wanted to know if that was true. Plus, I could ask if it was true that heroes and villains were working together to take them down." The last bit she throws in with a pointed glance at you.

"If heroes were working with villains, it would only be a temporary thing. They are kind of obligated to arrest the gangs, you know. Besides, I'm not sure how well the villains would be able to put aside their differences in order to work together in the first place." Even the Truce in place seemed all-too-delicate sometimes.

"Villains are people, too," Kayleigh says. "Even if they don't know each other, even if they don't like each other, I think they could still work together when they needed to. Maybe it's just that they need a little bit more of a push to get over themselves."

A little more idealistic than you believe, but that doesn't mean she's completely off-base. Purity, after all, was a villain for years before she tried to turn her life around for her daughter's sake, and look at her now! A Protectorate-hero-in-training, someone who was already making waves in the New Orleans PHO threads in a good way. All it took was for someone to believe in her.

"Who knows," you murmur. "In a crazy world like ours, I suppose anything is possible."

* * *

 **Some days I like my job, other days I really really hate my job. This past week has been full of the latter. Blech.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	89. Civil War 8-a

**Because I clearly like writing Alexandria interludes way too much.**

* * *

 **Civil War 8.a**

"Bullshit."

Rebecca sighed at David's crude retort but restrained herself from rolling her eye. "We have already had two extra-dimensional visitors. We knew this was a possibility."

"Other _Entities_ , yes, that was a possibility," Michael said with a tight grimace. "An invasion of alien humans on magic spaceships? I'm pretty sure we never discussed what we would do if _that_ happened."

She pushed the two thick file folders towards her friends, LOOKING GLASS stamped prominently on the front covers. "No, we did not discuss that particular possibility. We do, however, have plans that can be adapted to the situation at hand."

Sitting back in her chair, she let them refamiliarize themselves with the files in front of them. She had already read it when it was first written, but even still she had flipped through the pages to make sure Contessa had not added anything in the intervening years.

Cauldron had produced many contingency plans over its existence to make sure they would not be caught completely off their guard should something unexpected happen. Operation Looking Glass was one of them. In essence, it was what they needed to do should, on one of their cross-dimensional recruitment drives, they encounter another group that knew about the source of powers, either through the aid of a Thinker on par with Contessa or through finding another outgrowth of Eden's body and harvesting it. Subplans included what to do if they did or did not possess the ability to cross dimensions on their own, if they had or didn't have a powerful precog on their roster, if they had an insanely capable Trump…

Basically a how-to guide of what to do no matter what elements of Cauldron they had their own versions of, as well as different approaches should they be friendly or hostile.

Michael finally looked up. "How are we supposed to use this in dealing with this TSAB group?"

"Section 9, subsection 2.2. Tentative peaceful contact, high-level Trump and interdimensional capabilities." In other words, a group with their own Eidolon and Doormaker. "As with all the Section 9 plans, identify their goal and either help them obtain it in exchange for assistance or obtain it first and bargain with them for its exchange. Thanks to Calamity Witch, we know what they want."

"And what's that?" David grumped. Not that his worsening mood was any surprise. The sections involving an Eidolon-figure were built around David still having full access to his powers, which had been reasonable when Looking Glass was written but was no longer the case. He, understandably, was both irritated at the reminder of his loss and worried by the fact that he could no longer carry his part of the plan.

Rebecca pushed herself to her feet and started pacing around the table, in the process checking to make sure the doors were all locked. The conference room in Legend's office was soundproofed and hardened against any form of electronic surveillance, but even the best security was useless if someone could open the doors a crack and listen in. Satisfied that they were secure, she turned back to her compatriots. "Something stood out to me during my chat with Calamity Witch. Her contact in this organization was an admiral, and yet she said that the crashed ship was carrying a _'relic'_ , a piece of _'ancient magic tech'_. Why would a military organization be interested in an archeologic discovery?"

Both men figured it out at the same time and looked at each other. "This wasn't just some random find," Michael said slowly. He turned to look at her, his face paling. "It's a weapon."

"That is my interpretation as well. Then there was her reference to their concern that it might break the planet. The word choice was her own creation rather than a direct quote, but her worry was obvious. Not just any weapon, then, but a superweapon of extreme destructive potential. I doubt they explained its capacities to her, merely told her of its existence and gave her enough information to make her agree to help them retrieve it."

David frowned. "Somehow, I don't get the feeling you plan on helping them out."

"No, I don't. I plan on finding it first. The TSAB wants to take it back to their home world and do whatever to it, but if its interface is as intuitive as their current technology, we should be able to figure out how to use it ourselves." She smiled, the expression sharp and cold and deadly. "It might be just what we need to kill the Endbringers."

That was the reason they needed to find the relic first. It did not matter the exact form of the weapon, be it an antimatter explosive or a gigantic laser or something else. It was guaranteed to be effective, and there was no way in hell the TSAB would lend it to the Protectorate or teach them how to use it. Militaries did not let strangers play with their nukes.

"What happens when we can't turn it on? Or if, just maybe, it's too powerful for us to use without doing the Endbringers' job for them in the process?"

"Then we hold it as a bargaining chip and convince them to kill the Endbringers if they want us to turn it over. Not the optimal plan, but better than letting them run away with it." And they would play ball. There were only two reasons to bring a foreign superweapon back home: either to keep anyone else in general from having it, or to use it on someone else in particular. In the first case, they would take the option that prevented escalation. In the second, they would not want to split their forces on two fronts when diplomacy would work just as well. That being said, Rebecca thought with a frown, if they were in a _losing_ fight they might not be able to send anybody else to deal with the Endbringers, but in that scenario she predicted that the TSAB would show them how to use the weapon on their own. As far as the TSAB was concerned, the best place to test a new weapon was on some planet they had no concerns about.

"As neat and tidy as this theory is," David said, cutting through her musings, "there's one thing I can't put my finger on. Why would Calamity Witch even know any of this?"

"Because the TSAB told her in order to gain her cooperation."

"Yes, Becca, I get that, but _why_? The Army doesn't tell random civilians the details of their covert ops. So why tell her in advance that they were sending a team?"

Not knowing where a conversation was going was a feeling Rebecca rarely experienced, and she did not like it now any more than every other time it happened. "I would assume it is because she is their only local contact."

"Which would make sense if she had information that would help them find the relic. She doesn't, but they still broke operational security."

"You're clearly going somewhere with this, so why not jump to the explanation," suggested Michael.

"Fine. When we first started discussing Calamity Witch, we thought she used Tinkertech and that this was the normal outcome for someone carrying that particular piece of equipment. Now that aliens are involved, we didn't stop to reconsider that assumption. What if she isn't? What if, instead of being an average magician or whatever, her power is extraordinary? What if she's actually the magic version of one of us?

"The TSAB doesn't need her help finding the relic or blending in, not if they have as much experience working on unsuspecting planets as you said she was implying. She has nothing to offer them in terms of finding this relic that they can't get somewhere else."

"So why did they tell her everything, then?" echoed Rebecca.

David spread his hands wide. "Simple. Recruitment. She's on par with the best of their best. Too powerful to leave alone on some backwoods planet like Earth. Once they find the relic, they're going to take it back home with them, and her alongside it."

Rebecca went still. That was not something that had occurred to her, and she did not like it in the slightest. Calamity Witch was Earth's key to exploring magical abilities, and she had the raw power that would be needed when the next generation of parahumans was ready to take charge. Alexandria would still be around, but Michael was not getting any younger and Eidolon already needed to be replaced. Calamity Witch was the absolute best person to take on Eidolon's role. If the TSAB whisked her away to their home world…

"We can't let that happen," she said. Michael glanced at David with wriggling eyebrows, and she shot him her most withering glare. "Not considering all the good she can and will do if she stays on Earth. We need to find this relic, make contact with the TSAB, deal with the Endbringers, and convince them to leave with the relic and _only_ the relic.

"If the Endbringers can be taken care of, everything else is manageable. We _cannot_ let this opportunity pass us by."

* * *

 **Race for Immortal Assimilation Engine, start? :D**

 **And now I'm imagining Taylor sitting in a corner wrapped up with a bow on top and asking "Don't I get a say in this?".**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	90. Civil War 8-k

**Not sure how much I like the way this turned out, but hopefully I've developed the character enough that her line of reasoning makes sense (at least as much as it can!).**

* * *

 **Civil War 8.k**

Kayleigh shut the door behind her and hopped onto the bed with a _fwump_. "You know my friend Taylor I was telling you about?" she asked the ceiling. "Turns out she isn't Circus."

"Yeah, I know." She turned her head to watch her best friend finish brushing her brown hair and pull it into a short ponytail. "Circus is a guy. Good at crossdressing, creepily so, but still a guy."

"Well, _excuse me_ for checking on it myself," she replied with a pout.

Laura's movements slowed, and she looked back at Kayleigh through the mirror. "Kayleigh, what do you mean, _'checking on it yourself'_? I'm not going to hear about you getting arrested for sneaking into people's houses or something, am I?"

"It was only once! And I was ten! How was I supposed to know that family had already moved in?" Laura rolled her eyes and returned to her preparations. "But no, no sneaking around or anything. I just asked her."

"Oh. My. God." It was hard to hear what Laura was saying with her hands slapped over her face, but the tone was unmistakeable. "I love you like a sister, Kayleigh, but seriously you are the stupidest person I have ever had the misfortune to meet sometimes. You don't just go up to people and ask them if they're capes!"

"But it made sense! She never hangs out with the rest of us, just like you. She's always tired in the mornings, just like you. She can even pull that whole 'get out my way, lousy peons' vibe!" Laura shook her head even as she pulled off her clothes and contorted herself to get into her blue bodysuit. "Besides," Kayleigh added with a haughty sniff, "I was right, too. Not Circus, but she is Calamity Witch."

"Kayleigh, what the ever loving FUCK is wrong with you?!" shrieked the older girl, whirling around and getting slapped in the face by her heavy hood. "You don't go around digging into cape's real identities, and you sure as hell don't go blabbing them to everyone!"

"I'm not blabbing this to everyone. I'm only telling you because you need to know." Like really, really, _really_ needed to know. Laura and no one else, cross her heart. That was her promise to her friends.

"No, I don't need to know. I don't _want_ to know." Laura stomped over and hauled Kayleigh to a sitting position. "Kayleigh, Cape Rules protect you only as far as you can push back. You're not a cape. You _can't_ push back. That means you keep your head down and your mouth shut, not… whatever this is!"

Sometimes, Kayleigh thought, her bestie was so blind she couldn't see the trees for the forest. "Laura, Taylor's the girl you were dancing with at Greg's party."

"And that means what to me?" Laura asked, hands digging into her hair and pulling free her long dyed-blue bangs.

"It _means_ that she's perfect for you. Before I knew she was a cape, okay, maybe, maybe not. But she is a cape. She gets you! Being Calamity Witch makes it even better than when I thought she was Circus." She bounced on the mattress a little. "Just think about it. Two teenage capes, on opposite sides of the law but still running into each other. You helped out the Protectorate; she helped out Jotunn and Solaire. Plus, _plus_ , not only are you a villain and hero combo, but you even have this whole fire and ice thing going on with your powers! Cailleach and Calamity Witch, star-crossed lovers like a modern Romeo and Juliet! The story practically writes itself!" Kayleigh finished with an excited clap of her hands.

Laura stared at her for a long minute, and Kayleigh almost started to wonder if she might have made a mistake somewhere. "Two little details you sound like you forgot," Laura said in an icy voice. "First, you still broke the Rules, and for something as stupid and pointless as your matchmaking games."

Kayleigh sighed. Rules, schmools. Didn't Laura understand her chance with her true love was on the line?!

Probably.

Okay, it might not be love yet, but crazy wild monkey sex was still a good start! All her romance novels said so!

"Second, and even more important, _I don't like girls_!"

"Are you sure? You looked like you wanted to rip her pants off at the party," she muttered. Or maybe it was the other way around. The cell phone video somebody or another had recorded of the dancing had not focused on Taylor and Laura, but a bunch of girls dancing together was always going to attract guys' attention. Most of the other girls were just having a little fun, but those two? Once Kayleigh saw the video, she knew what she had to do. Taylor's latest revelation just made it even better.

"I was totally hammered!" Laura snapped. "I can't be held responsible for what drunk-me does!"

"If drunk-you is okay with grinding up on another girl, doesn't that mean that part of you likes girls?"

"What part of hammered do you not understand? I probably thought she was a guy or something!"

That was uncalled for, but it clicked with something else Kayleigh knew and shined a whole new light on this. Her eyes narrowed. "Huh."

Laura stopped yelling and looked at her with a guarded expression. She looked like she was now wondering if that stick she stepped on was actually a landmine about to blow up in her face. "…Do I want to know what you just thought of?"

"I just noticed something, and it explains a lot. Doug, and Pat; hell, all your boyfriends. They were all kind of wimpy-looking, you remember that?"

Her friend sniffed. "It's called being metro. Nothing wrong with it."

"No, no, not at all. But Taylor wasn't dressed like a guy, but you still latched on to her. Is it possible that what you actually like is… is…" Oh, shoot, what was that word? Not girly, not masculine, but somewhere in between. She snapped her fingers a few times before the lightbulb went off. "That's it, the androgynous look."

"You have got to be joking."

"No, really! Your boyfriends looked like they spent more time getting ready in the mornings than _I_ do. Taylor doesn't exactly have a curvy figure. You liked both of them." She held out her hands. "Tell me how that doesn't make sense."

"Kayleigh, just… just go." Laura put on her domino mask and pulled up her hood, and it was Cailleach standing in front of her. "Go home. I have Mexican dogs to put down. I don't have the time to listen to your crazy ideas." Opening the window, Laura slipped through onto the balcony before sticking her head back inside. "And don't you dare go spreading her identity around! I need to figure out how I'm going to fix the mess you've already made. The last thing I need is you making my job even harder!"

The window slammed down, but Kayleigh did not look upset. In fact, she looked up at the ceiling again with a small smile on her face. Step one of Operation Too Steamy for TV, A.K.A. 'Get Laura and Taylor together, version 2', had gone better than she could have ever expected. She might not even have to meddle in the rest of it for everything to work out, though she definitely would if only to make sure it all went off without a hitch.

How telling was it, she wondered, that Laura had not really denied that androgynous was her type?

* * *

 **Kayleigh is an interesting character. She isn't super-intelligent, and she clearly doesn't have the world's best decision-making skills, but my goodness is she clever when and how she wants to be.**

 **This was not in my original plans when I moved the story to Philly, just so you know. After the party chapters, there was a joke by somebody about shipping Tayler and the blue-haired girl she danced with, plus the players' suspicion that Kayleigh was Cailleach (which was never a thing and I'm not sure how that idea got started), and this popped out.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	91. Civil War 8-9

**Bit of a short one this week, but it needed to end where it did.**

* * *

 **Civil War 8.9**

 **Wednesday, May 25**

You hurry down the hall of the hospital, your fingers clenching and relaxing in turn. Three days. That was how long Benediction said it would take for your dad to recover. That was on Sunday. It's now Wednesday.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. One, two, three.

Lacey told you she and Kurt would see him during the afternoon now that he had been moved around to another room in the neuro-ICU under his real name – more for any visitors who had noticed you and Samantha visiting than for the hospital staff, who can't say anything because of the stack of NDAs that one nurse told you about when you were getting your MRI – but now that school's out you want to see him. You need to look at him with your own eyes and see for yourself that he's okay.

The doors slide open, and you have to hold yourself back from running. Because of the sixteen-foot range of his powers, they had to put him in a corner room where there was a little more space, so he would be—

Lacey looks up from where she is seated in a chair outside your dad's room and jumps to her feet. "Taylor, wait. We need to talk—"

Fear grabs your heart in its icy grip. "What's wrong? Isn't he awake?"

"Well, yes, he's awake, but that's not the issue."

"I don't care! If he's awake, I'm going to see him."

Lacey tries to say something, but you ignore her attempt to stop you and open the door to his room. His bed has been forced to the back of the room, but there he sits on top of it, clad in a hospital gown but awake and alive like you haven't seen him since he ran off to fight Behemoth. He wears a dazed sort of expression, but that's only to be expected. He did just wake up to find that he had lost a week and a half of time.

"Dad!"

He turns to you, his mouth set in a faint frown, and your smile dims a little. You are happy that he is awake again, but for some reason he does not appear quite so pleased. He better not still be angry about you talking to the TSAB, because if his first words after waking up are to scold you again you're going to put him back in a coma yourself.

The two of you stare at each other for almost a solid minute before you repeat, "Dad?"

"I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong room."

What? You don't have anything to say in response to that and instead just stare dumbly at him. "Dad, what are you talking about?" you finally ask.

"I'm talking about the fact that you have me mixed up with someone else," he tells you in a flat voice. No anger, no cruel humor, just dry facts that are the farthest thing from the truth. "I don't know who your father is, but I'm not him. Now, could you please leave? I'm waiting for my family to arrive."

"Dad, it's me. Taylor."

His eye starts twitching, and an angry flush spreads across his face. "Look, kid, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I'm not in the mood to be screwed around with. I think I'd recognize my own daughter, and you aren't her. Now get out before I have the nurses call security to _throw_ you out."

One staggering step back, then another. You whirl around and all but run out of the room, confusion and sorrow and pain streaming down your face.

He doesn't know who you are. _He doesn't know who you are!_

"Taylor!" Feet pound behind you, and thick arms grab you and pull you into a tight embrace. You latch onto Lacey and sob into her shoulder while she rubs small circles on your back. "I'm so sorry, honey. I tried to tell you not to go in. You didn't need to hear that."

The tears are a long time stopping, but finally you force yourself to meet her eyes. "What's wrong with him?"

"Whatever that cape did almost worked. Danny's awake, and he understands what's going on, but…"

"But?"

"He swears up and down that the last date he remembers is June first," she whispers. "June of 2005."

2005\. Six years ago. You were getting close to your tenth birthday. You and Emma were inseparable just as Zoe and your mom had been at that age. Your mom had still been alive, even. Is that why he doesn't recognize you, because he saw you weren't old enough to be his wife but too old to be your nine-year-old self? "Has anyone told him?"

"Kurt and I both tried talking to him, but he refuses to believe us. He thinks we're playing an elaborate practical joke on him. We'll keep working on it, but until then…"

"Until then, he won't believe that I'm me, and he won't recognize me." You wipe your face with your hand and look again at her still-downcast expression. "What else is wrong?"

"There's still the issue of what to do with him. He's weak, and between the need for rehab and the memory issue, you can't take him back to the apartment. About the only good thing in this whole fiasco is that his powers aren't working so hot either. Kurt's talking to the social worker now, but it sounds like he needs to spend at least a little time in some midlevel care facility." She rubs your shoulder. "Until he gets better, you and Samantha are more than welcome to stay with us."

"I don't… We… Can I think about it?"

Lacey frowns when you pull yourself from her grasp, but she does not say anything about it. She just nods. "Of course. We'll keep the living room light on when we go to bed if you aren't back by then."

You give her hands a gentle squeeze, thanks for being so understanding, and then you turn around and walk out of the ICU.

You can't handle this right now.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

« _…and that's about the long and short of it._ »

Samantha takes a bit to absorb the information you have just given to her before she replies. « _So what are you going to do?_ »

« _I don't think I have much of a choice,_ » you think with a sigh. « _Lacey and Kurt have legal custody of me according to Dad's will, not that I really want to kick up a fuss about that. Even with Kurt griping about how the Protectorate and we have worked alongside the gangs to fight MS-13, living with them hasn't been too bad. I just wish…_ »

« _I know. I miss him, too._ » You force back the tears that want to spring up anew. « _Try not to worry about this right now. Fly around a little to clear your head. All of these decisions we can discuss tomorrow._ »

Good advice from your Guardian Beast. Closing the telepathic signal, you drift over the business sector and watch as stores start locking their doors and flipping off their lights. Even in Philadelphia, people have to sleep sometime. This isn't New York City, after all.

With darkness beginning to fill the street and your eyes adjusting to the lessened light, you can just barely make out something moving on the distant rooftops. Vista? Some other allied cape? Or possibly the Maras trying to cause trouble on the worst day they could have _possibly_ chosen to pull this shit. A frown takes over your expression, and you cautiously make your way closer.

The rooftops are empty, and you come to a halt and shake your head. Maybe it was just your imagination, but your gut is still grumbling in suspicion. Something is not right here, but you can't put your finger on it.

Something flickers in the corner of your eye, and you conjure Strong Shield just in time to block the cluster of energy blasts coming at you. Three figures charge out of a stairwell, clearly itching for a fight.

* * *

 **Um. I think I'll just show myself out. This chapter was not a happy one to write.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	92. Civil War 8-10

**Civil War 8.10**

Everything was going so well before this last week. You were mostly adjusted to life in Philadelphia. You had a couple of friends through Kayleigh, not to mention Vista and Dragon. You had stood triumphant over the Dragonslayers. Then it all went to hell. Your dad is in critical condition, Mexican cartels are trying to take over, you're getting interrogated by Alexandria, you have to live in an apartment that isn't your home with people who – regardless of how nice they are – aren't your family, and your dad wakes up only not to recognize you. And _now_ these idiots are trying to shoot you out of the sky?

They picked the wrong day to pull this shit.

« _Sam!_ »

You rise in the sky, the deep red of Wide Area Search already forming at the end of your staff, when it happens. A wave of not-color sweeps towards and through you, and the eruption of orange light above you occurs right before the wave hits. You blink at the still, lifeless neighborhood that remains, confusion now warring with anger. This… this looks just like Recursion Field. How in the world are you in a dimensional barrier?

The Blaster of the group does not give you the time to ponder, and when the blasts again break upon your shield you can't help but wonder. Orange spheres, duller and redder in color than your own. Could it be another Shooter spell? The very idea is ludicrous, but between this and Recursion Field—

A brief whir is all the warning you get before another blast swings around from behind and slams into your left shoulder. A grunt from your right heralds the descent of your Guardian Beast just in time to tank the hit. "Who are these guys?" Samantha asks.

You do not know, and you don't think they'll tell you if you ask. Wide Area Search drops, and you follow it with a set of Flare Shooters. These bullets are special, though, their code just a little different than you're used to. While they fall, you rocket upwards until you are a couple of hundred feet up. This should keep you out of range of their attacks while you make a better plan. Your mask adjusts for the night's darkness just in time for your Shooters to hit the rooftop on which your attackers stand and explode, each tennis-ball-sized bullet suddenly turning into a two-foot circle of fire and fury. Those explosions should put them off their game for a few seconds.

The three visible men jump into the air to escape the attack, and you groan. Of course they're capable of flight. Because this fight wasn't enough fun yet.

A very familiar triangle of light appears below one of the men, and almost before you can react he is suddenly in your face. His thick sword crashes against your shield in a spray of sparks. " _Cdyht tufh_!" he barks.

« _Belkans?_ »

A flick of your wrist sends a quartet of Flare Shooters at him, but you don't stick around to see the result. One Blitz Action later and you are a solid hundred feet to the side, well out of his range. Between the bullets, the flight, and the casting triangle, there is only one possible conclusion: you have been attacked by mages. Your revelation is punctuated by frantically dodging a spray of Shooters you didn't see coming from below until it was almost too late.

« _BELKANS!_ »

Perfect Storm's scream of hate echoes in your mind while you continue your game of keep away with the sword-wielding mage. You only have a few abilities from the Extinction Knight template you had your Device install into your Linker Core, and that is enough to know you do not want to fight someone like that hand-to-hand. You flood the air between you with Flare Shooters, all of them set to explode with crippling force if disturbed. Hopefully the impromptu mine field will keep him off you for a second. « _Storm, what's wrong?_ »

« _Belkans. Savages, murderers, monsters. Kill them, Mistress! Kill them before they kill you!_ »

The Belkan knight flings himself higher in the sky to fly around your mines and winds up putting himself square in the path of Samantha's haymaker. He clears a swath through the mine field with his body, and you don't expect he's going to come back from that quickly. "You okay?" she asks immediately.

"Okay so far. You?"

"They're good," is Samantha's reluctant reply. That worries you. Your Guardian Beast is strong, but as the Dragonslayers proved, she is far from invincible. Then you have to throw up two shields to block yet another pincer attack. Is this what it's like for people fighting you? If so, it is extremely frustrating.

Wide Area Search finishes its deployment with a ping, and you blink in shock. Has it only been twenty seconds? The screen pops into view just as the two remaining melee mages rush at you, one carrying an axe and the other a spear. Samantha takes up a defensive position in front of you, intent on blocking anything coming at you. You, meanwhile, move a shield to your back and focus on the screen.

There has to be some way of turning the tables on your attackers.

Two in front of you, which you already knew. The surprise is that there are not two but three people below you all clustered together. The mage Samantha took out, the shooter, but who is the third? Maybe the leader of this bunch. The Blaster and the leader together make too good a target. "Sam, watch my back for a sec. I need to take care of their gunman."

You spin around, dismissing the shield to open up your line of fire. A purplish-black bullet flies at the stairwell where the three figures are hiding, but even before Temporal Sludge has fully deployed you pop a few cartridges. Fire swirls into a miniature sun, and a focusing ring forms a foot farther down. "Solar Wrath!"

The bright orange laser slices through the building, the four stories collapsing on top of themselves. You hold back a wince. That was not quite what you had in mind when you fired the spell. You were hoping it would only roast the roof, but it looks like you're a little more upset than you thought you were. Once this fight is over, you'll need to check on them and make sure they were not buried in the rubble.

Blue light shines down on you, and you conjure a shield with not a second to spare. A wide beam of blue slams into the shield, cracks already forming, and you and Samantha both dodge to the sides when the shield breaks. Your left arm screams in pain as it is scoured with a sandblaster. Now out of the way, you take a quick glance to find that your jacket's sleeve has been shredded below the elbow and your forearm is red as if sunburned. You glare at the purple-haired mage above you. He wants to play with bombardment magic? Okay. You'll play.

His overlarge pistol unfolds into its axe form, and he flings himself at Samantha.

You move to pursue him when you hear a sharp _ting_ and jerk to a halt. Around your left wrist is a ring of the same reddish-orange magic as the bullets, and despite your efforts you cannot pull yourself free. The Blaster must have survived after all. A second handcuff appears around your right hand, and now you are getting worried. This smells like a set up.

Orange sparks streak past you from all around, not just around you and the fighters but even along the ground. The neglected screen for Wide Area Search fizzles closed. You follow the sparks down and watch them merge into an ever-growing ball of mana that is already as big as your living room. It looks like the one spell in your arsenal you have never tried out, the one that is so powerful it would probably wipe out an entire neighborhood.

It looks like Ragnarök.

"Oh shit," you mutter as you desperately try to pull yourself free from your bindings. This is going to hurt.

The mage's shout is drowned out by the roar of the mana beam coming at you like a runaway train. The attack hits, and you scream. Your entire body is on fire, knives slashing through every inch of you followed by the raw impact of that much magic. The shackles shatter, and you tumble blindly through the air.

All bad things must eventually end, and so too does the spell. You fall several dozen feet before you finally catch yourself with a hover. Even that much is a strain. You feel like you just went ten rounds with Hookwolf, and your Barrier Jacket doesn't look much better. Your jacket is gone while there is barely enough left of your shirt to preserve your modesty. Your skirt is little more than a belt. One knee-high boot has been reduced to a sneaker, and the other is missing entirely. Perfect Storm, thankfully, is still mostly intact, but the tines of its head are glowing as though from heat and a spiderweb of hairline cracks crisscross its jewel.

Samantha screams, but unlike yours hers is one of complete and utter rage. You catch a glimpse of a black haze surrounding her before she's off, her Battle Frenzy turning her from overprotective ally to unstoppable berserker. _Okay Taylor, new plan_ , you decide. Your Barrier Jacket can't take much more of this abuse, so you need to get off the field and into the shadows. If you can sneak around and throw up Wide Area Search again, you hit the unknown bombardment mage below from the shadows and then focus your efforts on the axe-wielder, leaving the knights to Samantha.

" _Durchstechen_." You whirl around at the feminine voice and find the swordsman from before not even a foot in front of you. An intense tearing pain takes root in your chest, and you glance with a grimace down to see a shaft of metal coming out of you.

Oh.

" _E's… E's_ sorry _,_ " he mutters, his expression just as shocked as yours probably is, though you're sure yours is a good deal more pained. You can't help but wonder why Perfect Storm decided now was the best time to start translating again. He backs up, pulling three feet of reddened steel with him. Without his weapon supporting you, you tilt backwards and fall.

Your chest doesn't hurt so much now, which is a relief, though you're pretty sure the blackness rolling in is a bad thing all on its own…

* * *

 **This chapter caused quite a bit of headache when I revealed it to the players on Sufficient Velocity. Originally I looked at their plan and decided that it qualified them to die (which is not the end of the quest, something they know but I don't recall if I've said here), and they promptly went ballistic. So, after a solid 4 hours or so of criticisms, some of them well justified, I went ahead and changed the plan. Just wanted you to know in case anyone ELSE decided to rant about it. :(**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	93. Civil War 8-11

**Civil War 8.11**

 **Thursday, May 26**

"Uhhhhhhhhh."

Much like trying to wake again after staying up for three days, the haze that surrounds your mind takes substantially more effort to pull yourself out of than it should. Cracking one eye open, you stare blearily at the ceiling before you realize what is so strange about having a solid sheet of metal above your head.

You don't recognize it, you can't think of any reason why it should be there, and most importantly, the last clear memory you have is being stabbed with a _sword_.

That thought cuts through the last of your stupor, and you sit up to discover three interesting facts. First, you do not have a hole in your chest, nor any evidence that such was ever the case. That's good, a good start to the day. Second, you are wearing your normal civilian clothes. Third, and not so good?

Perfect Storm is no longer hanging around your neck.

« _Taylor. You're awake._ »

Turning around, you find a raccoon crawling into your lap with a sigh. A sense of relief washes over you. You might have been beaten up and locked away in a cage, but your Guardian Beast is here with you. That is a good start to any escape plan. "Hey, Sam. You okay?"

« _Well, we aren't dead, so things aren't as bad as they could be. Just don't expect me to be much help in a fight right now. Those Belkan guys pack a wallop, and I don't like getting shot with their version of Solar Wrath. Hurt more than I thought it would._ »

The door slides open before you can even start to think of how to escape, and two people walk in. The first is a man with tousled hair and a five o'clock shadow, dressed in a rumpled military uniform. Nothing about him would be out of the ordinary were all his hair not purple. The second is a younger woman with red hair; unlike her counterpart, she clearly took time to make sure she looked professional.

You dislike both of them on sight.

The man gives you a casual wave and starts talking, though what he is saying you haven't a clue. You wait until he is done for long enough that his grin starts to fade before you say, "I don't know who the hell you are or what you want, but when we get out of here, and we will, we're going to make your lives a living hell."

Now the man's smile is gone completely, and he turns to look at his partner, who looks unhappy as well but also… confused? Why in the world would _they_ be confused? You're the one who was ambushed and kidnapped. They have a brief conversation filled with incomprehensible speech as well as a displeased tone on the woman's part before the man conjures up a holographic screen and says something to the face on the other end of the line. That done, he leans against the wall and slides down it to sit on the floor across the room from you. The woman glares at him but does not say anything about it. Unhappily resigned is probably the best way to describe her expression.

« _I recognize him now_ ,» Samantha says out of the blue. « _The clothes are so different it threw me for a moment. This is the axe-guy who was fighting us. The one who shot at us with that blue bombardment spell._ »

« _If he was trying to kill us, why is he sitting there without a care in the world?_ » you wonder.

« _No idea_.»

The door finally opens to reveal a man with the same face as the person on the screen, and he dangles an ocean-blue jewel from a silver chain. Your heart leaps in your chest before suspicion supplants your excitement. Why show you Perfect Storm? What do they plan to do to your Device?

Apparently, the man's plan is to take it from his subordinate and toss it to you.

Your fingers grip your Device tight as you try to figure out what his plan is. He's a mage. He knows what you're capable of working together with Perfect Storm, and that you are all but powerless without it. Why in the world would he willingly give it back to you? « _Storm, are you all right? They didn't hurt you, did they?_ »

« _All systems functional, Mistress. Binding to prevent deployment of Barrier Jacket and transformation to staff applied. No other tampering. Twenty minutes necessary to degrade binding._ »

The man grins at you again and asks, "Can you understand me now?"

So that's why they gave back Perfect Storm. They can't get whatever they want, probably information, if you can't understand their questions and they can't understand your answers. In lieu of giving him what he wants, you demand, "Who are you? What do you want?"

"What do we want? That's an easy question with a complicated answer. Depends on how much you know already." He scratched his chin. "Who am I is easier. I'm Arton Erga, Enforcer for the TSAB. This is Teana Lanster, also an Enforcer."

" _You're_ from the TSAB?" Somehow, you doubt that. Their behavior doesn't match up at all with what you Admiral Tucson told you about them.

His gaze turns shrewd. "So you already know about the TSAB, huh? That narrows the possibilities down considerably. I'm starting to think we got off on the worst foot possible."

"And whose fault is that when you ambushed me, shot me, and stabbed me in the chest?" you spit out.

"Oh, definitely ours. We scuttled this one up good, 'specially if you are who I think you are." He shrugs, and you can't help but frown. An admission of guilt is not what you expected, though his blasé attitude does not make you any less unhappy about it. "Not much we can do about awful first impressions now, I'm afraid. You know my name, so what's yours?"

"Why should I answer your questions when you refuse to answer mine?"

"I answered one of them, if you think back, and I already said the other one is tricky. Tell me your name, and I'll give you your answer. I promise you that."

You are highly tempted to tell him just where he can shove his promise, but you bite your tongue at the last second. If they're lying about who they are, your name will mean nothing to them. If they are telling the truth… Well, you really don't know what you're going to do in that situation. "Taylor."

"Taylor. Found the _Agharti_ and dialed up Enforcer Command Taylor?" You give him a sharp nod, and he sighs. "Was afraid you were gonna say that. Well, Taylor, I'm sorry we had to meet this way, and that, you know, we shot you outta the sky. Bad case of mistaken identity. Thought you were somebody else who we really couldn't go easy on."

"What did this other person do to deserve being ambushed and murdered in cold blood?" you snap.

Lanster is the one who answers you. "I don't know how much you know about what the _Agharti_ was carrying, but the reason it was traveling through this section of the Dimensional Sea is that it was carrying a dangerous piece of ancient magical technology back to Midchilda. A Lost Logia."

You cross your arms. "I know. Admiral Tucson explained all that."

"Oh, you talked to the boss-man already. Good on you," Erga says.

"This particular Lost Logia," Lanster continues as though neither of you had interrupted her, "is called the Assimilation Engine." Your mind screeches to a halt at those two words. Did you just hear what you think you heard? "What it does that makes it so dangerous is that it forcibly converts any mage it comes in contact with into one of four types and programs them to be completely loyal to the world it came from. We've been searching this world and those nearby for you and the Lost Logia, and when we arrived on your world we tracked your mana use to where you were flying." After a moment, she shakes her head. "It was my fault. Your Barrier Jacket looks just like the one the bombardment-types wear, and when I saw you I assumed that anyone who looked like that had to be one of them. The chances that someone else would have that exact Barrier Jacket is tiny, but clearly not impossible. It doesn't help that you have skill with shooting magics and a Fire Mana Conversion Affinity. I'm sorry."

You open and close your mouth, unsure of exactly what to say. On the one hand, you really weren't expecting them to apologize, no matter how lackadaisical Erga's was. On the other, they still attacked you out of the blue without even trying to talk. No matter that their assumptions weren't completely wrong. While your mind wrestles with that dilemma, you hear your voice say, "It's called the Calamity Witch template, not bombardment-type. And the name of the Device is _Immortal_ Assimilation Engine."

The two Enforcers slowly turn their heads to stare at you. "I'm going to regret asking this," says Erga, "but how do you know that?"

You look down at Samantha, who in turn has raised an eyebrow at you. You suppose that's only fair; it's your big mouth that threw this wrench into the works. A moment to think yields no worthwhile alternative. They already have enough information to work it out, so you might as well admit it. Slipping Perfect Storm's chain over your head, you raise the jewel. "Meet Perfect Storm, my Intelligent Device. Also known as Immortal Assimilation Engine."

"A Class-1 Lost Logia, and you're using it like a regular Device. Heh. Heh heh ha ha ha."

While her partner laughs the laugh of those drifting into insanity, Lanster puts her hand on her forehead. "Wonderful. Now I know how Admiral Harlaown felt at the end of the Final Book of Darkness Incident. This cannot be happening."

"On the plus side," Erga says once he gets his laughter under control, "this mission just got ten times easier. About twenty times more awkward, but easier all the same."

"Once you're done yucking it up, I'd like an explanation of why my having that template gives you the right to shoot me without provocation," you interrupt in an icy voice. After all, the end result is the same whether they knew you were the Taylor they were looking for or not. They still shot you, tried to kill you, all because of how you were dressed? And these are supposed to be the good guys?

Erga's humor vanishes, and Lanster glowers at you. "Do you know what happened the last time the Immortal Assimilation Engine activated?" You shake your head slowly. "It killed more than five hundred people, and the only reason it stopped was because it ran out of targets on the ships it was on to attack and convert. The ship I was on lost a third of our crew trying to reseal it. Official projections are that, activated and left on even a low-magic world like yours, given a month it would have converted five hundred _thousand_. Probably more. Each and every one of them transformed from human beings with their own hopes and dreams into brainwashed soldiers whose only goal is to conquer the Dimensional Sea in the name of a dead world most people have never even heard of."

" _Belkan lies,_ " buzzes Perfect Storm, the sound like a swarm of bees fluttering around your neck. " _Galea could not fall. Attempt to subvert Mistress. Not trustworthy._ "

"Look, Perfect Storm, Immortal Assimilation Engine, whichever you want to be called," Erga says, and for the first time in this entire conversation there is no joking undertone. "It's not easy to hear that your world is dead. I know. I've been there myself. Worse for you, I'm sure; I at least knew growing up that Eltria was dying. But it ain't lies, sad as I am to say. Galea fell at the end of the Warring Ages, along with a bunch of other worlds when Belka made their final blitz. That was a thousand years ago now. There's nobody left. I'm sorry."

« _Lies,_ » your Device whispers, voice tinged with desperation. You wrap your hand around it and give it the most comforting squeeze you can.

While you are trying to reassure Perfect Storm, Samantha lifts her head to stare at the Enforcers. « _What happens to us now?_ »

"Good question. You mighta been adjusted by Immortal Assimilation Engine, but you still got your minds. You're not a danger to your world at large." He strokes his chin. "Don't really have a reason to keep you in the brig, I don't think. Can't punish somebody for what they might do."

"Maybe if you had kept that in mind _before_ you shot me, we wouldn't be having this conversation." Despite your words, your voice does not have that much bite. Are you still angry? Of course. These people tried to kill you, even if it was not strictly you they were trying to kill. All the same, you are also more than a little confused by how forthcoming and apologetic they are for their actions.

Lanster sighed. "You have little reason to believe me, but I ask that you do. I was the Enforcer who finally shut down Immortal Assimilation Engine last time. I saw all its forces. The people who are converted – the _other_ people who were converted before you came along," she amends, "they weren't people anymore. They had no individuality, no independent thought. They were nothing more than automata controlled by the Lost Logia that needed to be stopped by any means necessary before they could do any more damage. Much as it hurt to consider them as such, it was the only way to keep the rest of the crew safe."

The cold numbers she laid out earlier and her descriptions now combine make the hair on the back of your neck rise. Five hundred thousand brainwashed soldiers out inflicting destruction and death. That sounds like the Simurgh's attack on London, back when people were just starting to get a handle on how dangerous her Scream was.

They had treated you like a Ziz-bomb. Inherently dangerous, incapable of being negotiated with, and dead set on a course of destruction. They immediately moved to put you down, and much as you dislike being on the receiving end of that, part of you wonders how different their actions were from firing a lethal Solar Wrath at the escaped members of the Empire 88.

"Did telling yourself that make it easier to do what 'needed to be done'?" you ask.

"In the heat of the moment? Maybe a little." The smile she gives you is brittle and bitter. "When we returned home and I had a mental breakdown over killing who knows how many people, or when I had nightmares for the next month? Not really."

You stare at the young woman in shock and shame for a long moment before Erga clears his throat. "And on that note, let's get you home. But first." He taps the face of his digital watch. "Release binding seal, captured Intelligent Device 1."

" _Seal release."_

Ribbons of green light covered with script appear wrapped around Perfect Storm. The next instant, they shatter like glass. "Just like that?" you can't help but ask.

"Just like that." Rocking his torso back and forth, he hops to his feet. "Come on, I want Sambar to give the both of you a final check-up before you go. He healed up the hole in your chest Eos gave you, but he didn't have the mana after that to completely heal your familiar. We figured we'd let her rest first before we did anything else. Some familiars recover quick when they get a chance to sleep; others don't. He'll be rested up now and can finish the job without any problems."

You follow Erga down the hall and stare out the windows at the forest surrounding what you now realize must be their starship. It is morning out there, and while it is always possible that you are on a different part of this planet than Philadelphia is and that it is still night back home, you don't think your luck is that good. The TSAB did patch up the hole they put in your chest, and that had to have taken time. You've undoubtedly missed school for the morning, and in the week before finals, too. Still, all things considered, not the biggest issue you have at the moment.

"Where are we?" you finally ask.

"Don't rightly know the name of it. Don't think it has one since it's uninhabited. We came here expecting to find just your world, and instead there are fifteen of them all packed in together. You could probably see them all in one day without completely wearing yourself out. Don't find this many habitable worlds clustered together in one section of the Dimensional Sea that often."

Dimensional Sea, multiple worlds. Alexandria was right; they really are interdimensional travelers, not interstellar ones. So this must be a cousin to Earth Aleph and Earth Bet, then. Earth… Earth…

Okay, if you're going to go exploring and naming places, you should probably brush up on your Hebrew alphabet first.

A flick of Erga's hand causes two grey business card things to appear in midair, and he tosses the holograms back to you. "What are these?" you ask, peering at the nonsense characters typed on them.

"Coordinates for a dimensional transfer. First one is where we found you on your world. The other is here on this world in case you decide to swing by." He stops in the middle of the hall and turns around to face you, and you halt as well. "I meant what I said back there. Lanster, too. We made a huge mistake with you, and the Admiral's gonna have our hides for it, I bet. If we could go back and change what happened, we would. But we can't, so the best we can do is undo what we can.

"Anyway, not the point I'm trying to make. You've got a foothold in the wider Dimensional Sea now, Taylor. If you don't want anything more to do with us, that's your choice. You want to learn about it, though?" He spreads one arm wide, indicating the whole ship. "Come find us, and we'll tell you what you want to know. Door's open."

* * *

 **Bleghblub.**

 **Not my favorite chapter; felt like I was trying to cover too many bases at once. Probably because it was written in the shadow of the brouhaha that followed 8.10.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	94. Civil War 8-12

**Civil War 8.12**

Your time in the TSAB's custody did, in fact, cause you to miss out on most of your morning classes, and the lecture you received from Lacey for vanishing overnight without telling anyone took up the time you could have spent in the rest of third period. You made it back in time for lunch and the couple of classes you have in the afternoon, but in a stroke of luck your look of exhaustion was misinterpreted as you being slightly ill instead, so the day overall wasn't too bad.

It seems the world was saving up all the trouble it wanted to pile onto your shoulders for this evening.

"Say that again, please."

" _Chevalier sent word to Winter Hill yesterday that we, the Protectorate, were open to working together to drive MS-13 out of the city for good. We received confirmation today that they and Fairyland will meet us tonight. I'd like you to come to the meeting."_

That is what you thought Miss Militia said. Giving up any pretense of studying, you turn your full attention to the screen floating in midair. "How does that even work? Do they just have each others' emails or something?"

The patriotic heroine laughs at that. _"No, they don't, no matter how amusing that would be. There are several rogues who work within Winter Hill's territory, and some of them agreed to pass on information to Winter Hill considering the situation in the city."_

"Okay, I can kind of see that. Not that I don't appreciate the offer, but why me? I'm not a master strategist. Samantha would even say I wind up flying by the seat of my pants most of the time."

" _Don't sell yourself short. You are far from a bad tactician,"_ Miss Militia replies. _"As for why, a couple of reasons. First, this is an open meeting. Any cape who wants to join in the fight is welcome to come. We've invited other independent heroes to come if they wish. Second, you've shown that you can work alongside the villains to fight the Maras, and that hasn't gone unnoticed by us or them. Third, you definitely have enough power to swing around, and you are the person who knows where you can leverage it best. It's only reasonable that you hear the details you'll need to make that decision."_

"Let me check on something first. I can't give you an answer right now."

" _That's fine. We'll meet at 7:30 at the Marriott close to Headquarters. The conference room was judged to be neutral enough ground. I hope to see you there."_

The screen vanishes, and you rub your temples. You want to go, no question about that. This is probably the best chance you're going to get at stopping MS-13. The problem is the very upfront alliance, and how certain people, namely your own allies and teammates, are going to react.

"I'm kind of glad Kurt isn't here right now," Lacey says into the silence. You look up to meet her eyes. "He would have flipped if he heard that."

"I'm aware."

Kurt made his displeasure at even the Truce well known when all this mess started, and his opinion on the matter has not changed much in the intervening week and a half. No one has said anything to you, but you've heard snippets of phone calls over the past week and most lately yesterday where it sounded like the situation is putting pressure on the Privateers as well, though you aren't sure about the whys and hows. What you do know is that he would try to forbid you from going, and that's the issue.

Not that you'd listen if he did, but that spitting in your teammates' eye tends to cause more problems than it solves.

Lacey watches you for a moment before she sighs and starts pulling leftovers out of the fridge. "This is one reason I don't involve myself in much of the Privateers' business. I'm not a fighter. I don't like conflict. Do you think you going will make a difference?"

"Lacey, I'm the most powerful Blaster in the city. The PRT rates me the same as Purity, and she's right below Legend. Yes, I would definitely make a difference."

"Then there's your answer. I'll warm up something so you can eat now, and if Kurt asks we'll keep the details of your trip to ourselves."

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The conference room is already full when you arrive, even a couple of minutes early.

On the right side of the table sit Chevalier and Miss Militia. None of the Wards are present, though this is no great surprise considering the differences in how Philadelphia deploys its underaged heroes compared to Brockton Bay. Beside them is one of the Mishmash triplets; probably the one with Thinker powers considering the Brute with her cropped hair and the Mover with her restless energy stand behind her. With the unseated Mishmash sisters against the wall are Hellbeast; Spiderbite, a Striker with a paralytic touch; and someone you don't recognize, a slightly overweight cape who looks like he is made of white plastic with holes running up his arms and legs and in several spots in his torso.

On the villain side of the room are Jotunn and Solaire at the table, Cinderella and Vortex – the leader of an independent villain team who is capable of producing localized whirlwinds – in the next two seats. Behind them are Cailleach; Pounce; Snow White; Sleeping Beauty; Vortex's teammates Slo-Mo, who slows down individuals within his immediate vicinity, and Flop, a Trump with the ability to enhance a random aspect of another cape's powers for a short time; your fellow Brocktonite Circus; and Gush, another recent arrival to the Philly scene and a Breaker/Blaster who can spray the black sludge that makes up his body to entrap people.

Eight on one side, twelve on the other, and you and Samantha almost even the numbers up. As you take the seat next to Mishmash after her imperious wave towards it, you can't help but think about the impact this gang war has had on the balance of power. The Warlocks gone, MS-13 soon to join them if this meeting goes well, and that leaves only Winter Hill and Fairyland as the established gangs in the city along with a smattering of independents. Philadelphia has always been on the extreme low side as far as cape numbers go, and the majority of those who are left and are not rogues are already in this room. This is as near an even hero-villain ratio as the city has likely ever had.

7:30 hits, and the fast Mishmash sister closes the door.

"Thank you all for coming," Chevalier says, giving a nod to the villains in attendance. "I know this is different than how we normally do things. Endbringer fights are one thing, as is a Truce such as we have been operating under. This is a very different set of circumstances."

"I'm not too sure about that." You are not all that surprised that Jotunn would disagree with the leader of the Protectorate. You just expected it to take longer than the opening statement. "True, the Maras are not an Endbringer. Not even close. Nonetheless, they are a threat to Philadelphia. We live here just as you do. Those who are not willing to band together to defend the City of Brotherly Love do not deserve to call it home."

…Or maybe not disagreement, just a very strange power play that you really don't understand the point of. Is he just trying to say that the villains are equals and not technically under Chevalier's command? It doesn't sound right, but you can't see his angle.

Chevalier appears willing to let the interruption slide, however, so you assume whatever it was is not wholly important. "Well said. As such, let us progress to the heart of the matter. The Mara Salvatrucha and what we are going to do to stop them.

"Thanks to support from the Think Tank, we have a location for where the Maras have likely chosen as their base of operations." Miss Militia unrolls a map that had been laying in front of her, and Chevalier continues, "It is in the heart of the Badlands, on Indiana Avenue. These buildings were all purchased by a shell company that was upon investigation a front for MS-13, and they were bought long enough ago that they have probably been heavily fortified by now. We do not know how much cape support Cadejo has now that Cero and Mysterio have been arrested, but Thinker analysis indicates that there is at least one more cape assisting him."

"Two, actually. Luz and Oscuro, either a husband and wife or a brother and sister pair. Loyal to a fault towards La Muerte, the human-controlling Master who is officially only the commander of the Sinaloa Cartel forces in Sinaloa itself, which means she is almost certainly the true leader of the Cartel and from there MS-13." The smile Jotunn gives the Protectorate heroes is beyond devious. "Luz is a Blaster, capable of firing powerful lasers from preset points, but his power takes time to charge. Oscuro is a Shaker who distorts people's senses within a single enclosed area. They will probably provide the third and second lines of defense, respectively."

"How do you know that?" asks Miss Militia in a suspicious voice.

"My dear, my sources may be more underground than yours, but they are no less informed."

Cinderella clears her throat. "This is all well and good and all, but what do you mean, second and third defenses? Who's first?"

"The unpowered members, I would presume," comes Mishmash's reply. "They will likely be stationed in the buildings around whichever Cadejo is working out of. In sufficient numbers and appropriately armed and bunkered, they would pose a threat to normal PRT forces."

"Several people in this room, too," you can't help but point out. "As someone whom they shot a missile at, I can say with certainty that they have weapons that would kill anyone who doesn't have Brute-level defenses."

Mishmash nods after a moment's thought. "You are correct. A solid plan will be of critical importance in attaining victory."

A thought crosses your mind, and after a moment you mentally shrug. Winter Hill already knows that you have technologic abilities since you had Samantha show and explain Wide Area Search, and Alexandria figured out that your staff was technologic, which means the rest of the Protectorate likely knows too. Might as well spill more of the beans from that bag. « _Hey, Storm. Can you scan that map and extrapolate what it looks like in real life from photos and blueprints online?_ »

« _I can do it. Minimal computation required._ »

Good enough for you. You summon a screen flat on the table and flick it along the surface to stop on top of the map. The corners expand, and from the map raises an electric blue model of that section of the city.

"…Thank you, Calamity Witch," Chevalier says after staring at the screen for a second. "The group of buildings in question is here"—the cluster of boxes where he points grow in size while the others vanish—"and we expect Cadejo and his support to be in this building in particular." The middle building turns red.

A snicker comes from behind the seated villains, and Pounce covers her mouth, but not before you hear, "I want."

"All the other buildings will have regular guys in them?" Solaire asks with a frown. "That'll be hard to get through. Can't just rush in, or they'll shoot us in the back. Can't take them out first, or Cadejo and friends will escape."

"Indeed," says Jotunn, tapping his fingers on the table. "I assume we will be split into two groups for this assault? One group to attack the capes, and the other to mop up the rest of the gang."

Mishmash nods. "That is the plan. Generally, we want capes with either Brute ratings or armor of some kind to lead the main attack. People who will be able to stand up to Cadejo, and now Luz's attacks as well. Anyone with wide-area attacks would be better suited to deal with the soldiers due to the larger area and therefore lower risk of friendly fire."

"From the Protectorate side, I will be inside taking the fight to Cadejo while Miss Militia will take part in the outside phase. Sere and the Wards will stay at Headquarters, ready to deploy if something happens in another part of the city. I take it you will be joining me inside, Jotunn?"

It's a good thing Chevalier appears ready to call the leader of Winter Hill on whatever weird politics he wants to play. The frost giant thinks for a moment and nods. "Yes, I and Solaire both. Cailleach will join Miss Militia. Like you, we will keep Pounce in reserve"—the cat-girl whines at that decree—"though Angel Dust might be able to cook up something to help us against Cadejo. I assume you have your own strategy for actually capturing him?"

"We do."

"While both Snow White and I are capable of large-scale attacks," Cinderella says, "my own powers carry too great a risk for collateral damage in a confined space. Snow White is better for joining you against Cadejo."

"And your other princess?" grunts Vortex, the first time he has spoken in the entire meeting.

"In this kind of confusion, her powers would be too likely to cause additional problems."

"Fine. I'm sitting this one out," he tells the room. "Can't do much against lasers or ghost-dogs, and you don't want me blowing all the rest of you away outside."

"Thank you for your restraint," Miss Militia replies, just a little catty. Is there some history between these two you don't know about?

As a Brute, Hellbeast volunteers for the indoor group, and so does Spiderbite, who states that his power might be effective against Cadejo even when intangible. The Brute Mishmash sister joins that group, too, while the Mover can do better in the wide-open space of the compound. The Thinker volunteers to help run the console at the Protectorate base and coordinate the assault. Despite their leader choosing to stay put, Flop offers to boost the capes going after the capes, which leaves Slo-Mo to assist with the unpowered gang members. Circus and Gush join Miss Militia's group, and after a moment so does Shard, the plasticky cape you did not recognize, mentioning that his powers don't do well around allies either.

That is everyone else in the room, and both Chevalier and Jotunn turn to you and Samantha.

* * *

 **Can I just say that even without the magic parts of it, I would really love to have the sheer cyber technology of Nanoha Devices? Imagine what the world would be like with the holographic screens and data transfers in the show.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	95. Civil War 8-13

**Civil War 8.13**

 **Friday, May 27**

The clump of buildings that MS-13 has claimed as their base sits dark and forbidding in the deepening twilight. Floating high above it, you frown down at the largest factory building in the middle and admit, "I'm still tempted to go ahead and just blow the whole thing down. Take out Cadejo's building and everyone inside it with one Solar Wrath, and then all the alliance has to do is wrap everything up."

"And Chevalier explained why that was a bad idea when you proposed it," Samantha reminds you. "Cutting the head off this snake doesn't kill it. It just thrashes around and crushes what's around it. That is what happened the last time the Protectorate moved to root out MS-13, back in Corpus Christi. They took down the local leader, and while the Maras fled, it was only after the unpowered members moved out to cause as much collateral damage as possible on their way out. That is why the outside group needs to engage first, to keep them busy while the inside team breaches the building.

"Not to mention, we already know that Cadejo's intangibility protects him from that spell. Chevalier and potentially Jotunn have strategies that will neutralize that advantage, but they can't use them if he splits up and runs off in six different directions, which he would if you removed his cover."

"I know that!" You sigh. "Doesn't mean I can't wish this were simpler. This plan has so many moving parts that I'm worried about how and where it's going to fall apart rather than if. Not to mention," you add with a glance her way, "watching each other's backs is a two-way street. You have the more dangerous fight ahead of you."

"If you're that concerned, I can hang back and help out with the normal gang members—"

You interrupt her with a shake of your head. "You can do the most good fighting Cadejo's backup and keeping them off Chevalier and Jotunn. Just as I can do the most good here. Splitting up is the plan that makes the most sense, I know that, but knowing doesn't stop the worry."

Before this last week, you had not exactly thought yourself invincible, but the possibility of defeat did not seem so real. You had lost fights, sure – the Simurgh, Cadejo, the first round with the Dragonslayers – but those were fights where you simply did not win. It wasn't until you faced off against the TSAB that you yourself had been truly and soundly _defeated_. If they had been trying to kill instead of capture for questioning…

Losing had its consequences, but defeat's were worse.

Samantha bumps her shoulder against yours and gives you a warm smile. "I'd offer to bring Cadejo's head back on a pike if that would make you not worry so much, but I'm fresh out of pikes, and harpoons just don't have the same impact." You roll your eyes, and she laughs before pulling you towards the ground. "Come on, Taylor. They're waiting for you."

The two of you drift away and down to the cluster of PRT vans parked out of sight of the compound. The assembled capes have already divided themselves into their respective groups, and you give Samantha a wave before touching down between Miss Militia and the speedy Mishmash sister. You glance over at Shard when he takes a quick step farther away, but you dismiss it. Probably he's just nervous about the fight and you startled him. "Quiet as a mouse out there."

"Which probably means they are ready for us," Miss Militia says in a calm voice, "or they think they are, anyway. I was hoping we could all move in as one group before splitting up, but it sounds like we will need to move on to Plan B. We'll move first and distract the Maras so that Chevalier's team can breach the main building and pursue Cadejo. Split into four teams, and everyone start at one corner and work your way in. Get into position and wait for my signal, then cause as big a commotion as you can." Looking over the assorted capes, she added, "You all know your powers better than I do. Try to pair up with someone whose power would complement your own. Once we mop up all the resistance outside, we can move in to back up the other team, but until then you'll be on your own."

The assembled capes eye each other speculatively for a long moment before Slo-Mo adjusts his top hat and asks, "Anyone able to fight while you're slowed down? Kind of a big deal over here."

"Sound blasts," Shard mutters, picking at the holes in his body from which said blasts are fired, and just like that the first pair is formed.

With the ice broken, things start to move. Gush and Mishmash head out next, the synergy between their powers obvious; while Gush sprays the gang members and their guns with sludge, Mishmash can dodge his blasts and smack the Maras silly. Circus taps Cailleach on the shoulder and asks, "You can spray ice in one direction, right? It's not just explosions?"

"Yes…?"

"Kay, cool. I get kinda handsy when I fight, so I had to make sure I wouldn't get turned into a Circus-kabob." Circus grabs Cailleach's arms and pulls her towards a third corner of the compound. "Besides, fire and ice? Kinda makes sense for us to pair up."

"This could pose difficulties," Cinderella says once the three of you are alone. "When I use my abilities to their fullest, the damage is fairly… indiscriminate."

You clear your throat. "I'm tough enough that shouldn't be a problem."

"As long as your glass shards do not fly at you, I can stay a step behind and shoot over your shoulder," Miss Militia adds. "I will meet you at the front-left corner as soon as I have set off the signal."

The villainess nods, and then it is just the two of you standing around in silence.

"You have an advantage none of the rest of us have." You tilt your head at the older heroine when she finally speaks, and she points upwards. "You and Samantha are the only capes here who can fly. You could fly over the battlefield and lend a hand everywhere. It's not without risk, though. Even with a black costume, you would still be an easier target than the rest of us, and that means you would have to be more cautious. I don't want to watch you be shot with an RPG again. Or you could pick the safer path and join one of the groups. I doubt you'd be turned away by anyone." She shrugs. "It is your choice, Calamity. I trust your judgement."

If she has anything else to say, it is cut off when Chevalier walks up. "Where did everyone else run off?"

"Calamity Witch noticed that it was too quiet. We're moving on with Plan B."

"Blast. I had hoped we might be able to sneak in part of the way." He shook his head. "It is what it is. Can you make us a door?"

"A door?" you repeat. You obviously didn't take a close look at it, but you remember the factory already having a door.

Miss Militia nods and walks past the rest of the assembled capes to stand in the middle of the street. Her hunting knife crackles and splits as it falls, and then it is gone. In its place is a full-sized cannon, and you can only stare as Miss Militia grabs something at the rear and moves to one side.

She isn't really going to—?

She gives the cord in her hand a sharp yank, and the cannon booms. The front door of the main factory explodes inwards, any lock or brace that might have existed at one time definitely gone now. That must be what she meant by her signal, and now shouts and yells can be heard from the surrounding buildings as the rest of the outdoor team gets to work.

"All right, everyone. Let's go!"

The inside team runs out from behind cover towards the open door, the physically frailer Snow White, Spiderbite, and Flop tucked away in the middle of the formation and the whole group becoming surrounded by stone dwarves. Samantha gives you a wave as she follows Solaire's golden armor.

Miss Militia sprints towards the corner where glass already glistens, and you jump into the air to survey the battlefield. You can see some people moving around, but it is always between buildings as the Maras move to reinforce their compatriots. It isn't clear where in their buildings your allies are at the moment, either. If you want to follow Miss Militia's suggestion, you're going to be shooting blind, but if you pick a group you will have to hold back on your strongest attacks to prevent any friendly fire accidents.

"Should have just burned down that building after all and damn the consequences," you mutter.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	96. Civil War 8-14

**Civil War 8.14**

You look over the compound and scowl. You had hoped that maybe some of the Maras would still be running around out in the open for you to pick off with ease, but it looks like they've gotten smarter since you last fought them. That could be a problem, particularly since Miss Militia had some very good advice. Grenades are not fun.

"Storm, give me dossiers for the other capes in this team. I don't need comprehensive, I need now."

Four screens immediately popped up in your vision, each one dedicated to a pair of combatants, and your decision becomes clear as you read through them. Gush and Mishmash you immediately scratch off your list. As you noted previously, they should have good synergy with their powers, and you have no idea if Gush's spray is flammable, which is an important concern considering your own powers. Slo-Mo would be difficult to work with due to his own time manipulation field; it would be like fighting inside your Temporal Sludge spell, which is something to try to inflict only on your opponents. As you told Cinderella earlier, you could take the impact from her glass shards, so that is a consideration.

What finally makes your decision is the last pair. Cailleach's powers you know; you did plenty of reading on her after she helped you out not once but twice. Circus, on the other hand, you don't know well despite her originally being from Brockton Bay, and what Perfect Storm knows about her is less than impressive. "Minor physical enhancements to balance and coordination, but nothing superhuman. Fire projection from a pre-existing source. Some kind of storage dimension for knives, hammer, and burning torch. Decent enough for a common thief, I guess, but she isn't a particularly dangerous cape."

This is the team that can use your help the most, you decide, and besides, you might be able to pay Cailleach back, or at least thank her for the aforementioned fights.

Might as well get started. You have no idea where those two ran off to, but thankfully there is a spell for that. Seconds later, the tiny red sparks of Wide Area Search race away to cover the area, and then all you have to do is wait for the map to be completed. You can't help but look at the survey of the central building when it comes up, but to your frustration, the interior is hazy and distorted, bits and pieces flickering out randomly. Oscuro's work, it has to be. Thankfully, that is not your problem even if it is Samantha's. Hoping she will be okay, you find the pair of blue dots signifying your temporary allies and drop from the sky.

Flare Shooter is a versatile spell. It can detonate as a flash of light, a gout of flame, a burst of kinetic force, and any combination of the above. You have wondered what a Flare Shooter programmed primarily for a blast wave would do when combined with the Burst modifier, and you are not at all disappointed to learn that it creates an explosion appropriate in size for a beach-ball-sized bullet. Ten of them in a small room already filled with armed gangsters creates a lot of chaos.

That is the scene Cailleach and Circus walk into when they reach the room in question, you sitting on top of your floating staff with a bunch of Maras laid out on the ground beneath you. "Mind if I lend a hand?"

Circus whistles. "Girl, if you can do all this on your lonesome, you can put your hands wherever you want."

"I won't refuse the help," Cailleach says with a shake of her head at her ally's commentary. "It will be nice to have another Blaster on hand. I need to see where I'm shooting, and I can't do that with all these walls in the way."

Line of sight. You had suspected something of the sort during the fight over the PRT transport following Cero's arrest, but it is nice to have that confirmed. It also raises questions of just how a squishy villain like Cailleach could be effective in this gang war when bullets are also line of sight. She probably relied on Jotunn or Solaire to be her shield and keep her targets busy, you decide, much like you rely on Samantha for.

Maybe the same solution to your problem with shooting hidden targets will help her, too. You fiddle with the sliders on the map screen for a moment, then you shrink it, pull an exact duplicate out from behind it, and flick one of them at Cailleach's face. "Try this."

"What the hell?" She flexes and bends it for a moment before positioning it above and to the outside of her left eye. Circus tries and fails to swipe it away, her fingers sliding through the hologram with all the ease that would be expected, and Cailleach smiles. "Okay, now I can understand Pounce's jealousy."

You thought she would find that useful. Wide Area Search is now configured just as it was the last time you fought alongside Winter Hill, giving you and Cailleach a model of the rooms beyond the walls as well as those rooms' inhabitants. "Think that'll be enough?"

"Oh, yeah. With this I can use my blast in the middle of each room and take out a good chunk of the Maras before they even know we're here."

"Cool." That's right, all that power looks like is a cluster of blue sparkles before there's suddenly a massive flower of ice sitting there. Much less obvious even than your own spells. The edge of your screen flashes red, and you spin the perspective around before tossing a trio of Flare Shooters behind you. They swing around the corner and explode in the faces of the Maras who had tried to sneak up on you. "Let's get started."

The other girls had climbed in through a window in the office connected to the loading bay of this warehouse whereas you had punched through the ceiling a couple of rooms farther in, which unfortunately left the majority of the building filled with what a quick glance at Wide Area Search proves to be way more Mara foot-soldiers than you would have expected. "What did he do, call up every branch of the MS-13 for more people?" you wonder out loud as you stare at the x-rayed image of the wall between you and what looks to be the main warehouse floor.

"Of course not— Holy shit." Cailleach blinks at her own screen, which now floats in front of her eye. "Um. All right, maybe he did. That's a lot of people with a lot of guns."

You roll your eyes. "I hadn't noticed. How are we going to do this? I can't take all of them with my powers before they realize something's up. What about you two?"

"It'd take me several big blasts. They would notice that just as easily."

"Don't ask me. I can't even see what you're looking at." You expand your screen so Circus can look at the model, and she shakes her head. "Nope. I could take down maybe three with my knives before they pump me full of lead."

Solar Wrath? No, that wouldn't work. Well, it _would_ , but in doing so it would probably overshoot your target and roast your teammates in another part of the compound, and if you went back into the sky to shoot it, you'd wind up turning Cailleach and Circus extra-crispy by sheer proximity instead. You cross your arms and tap your fingers against your elbow for a moment before looking down. "Circus, is there a reason you're poking me with a knife?"

The clown shrugs. "You've got a Brute-y forcefield or something stashed away in that Tinkertech of yours, don'tcha? Out of the three of us, you're the one who's bullet-proof. Ice Queen blows shit up, you go out there and distract them, and I'll pick 'em off while they're busy running away from her and at you."

You glare at her, despite how her bright purple and lime green outfit makes your eyes want to water. "Not a fan of that plan."

"It'd work, though."

Turning to Cailleach for a little help, you start to worry when she looks again at her screen. "It would keep them off balance, and you are the only Brute here."

Your mouth opens and closes without a sound coming out. Never have you hated your Barrier Jacket until tonight. "Fine," you all but snarl, Perfect Storm's handle telescoping out. You walk over towards the door and create seven white-hot Flare Shooters, two positioned at either end of each hinge and the last at the lock. Already the metal is beginning to melt in the face of your anger. "If this goes south, I'm going to take it out of your hide."

"Head out on three. One… Two…"

You kneel halfway down like a sprinter at the starting line.

"Three."

Flare Shooters hit the door and rip through the softened steel. The rest of the door falls backwards at your flight-assisted kick. Gang members are lying on the ground groaning or else staring at the pointed ice sculpture that suddenly appeared. They know something is wrong, but it's too late. You're already in motion, and a four-foot-long scythe forged from the sun itself is humming at your back.

You spin like a top as you shoot forwards, the whirling blade throwing people away and filling the room with the smell of burnt flesh. Code flashes in front of your eyes. Guns come up to point at you, but they are too late. The name of your next spell has left your lips. "Blitz Action."

The world blurs nearly too fast for you to see, and the outer edge of your scythe acts like a bulldozer's plow, shoving a clump of Maras to the ground screaming as their assault rifles melt in their hands. A mental nudge and you're moving perpendicular to your previous momentum, shearing through more guns with a second strike that has blurred into the third. You had your eyes on the prize from the start, and a mental yank picks up a couple of fallen chairs and slams them into the third group's back. Your scythe hits their front. A twist in the code, and the blade explodes into a wave of fire and force. The gangsters fall to the ground, mercifully unconscious before they can feel the second-degree burns that now cover their faces and chests.

You smile. You'd love to see someone try to match that.

The speed boost from Blitz Action runs out at the same time the psychic strain from running four spells at once hits you, and you land unsteadily on your feet while pain blooms in your head. To your right, the remaining quarter of the Maras are clustered together and have just now figured out that you're the black blur that took down nearly two dozen of their men. With you standing still, they see an easy target and raise their guns.

It's unfortunate, really. As planned, you were the distraction, and you will later wish you had a photo of their faces when ice appears from nowhere and flings them into the air to crash back down to the ground.

A shiny knife cuts through the hand of one man still conscious enough to consider fighting back. The pole end of your staff smacks his head and smashes his face into the concrete with sufficient force that he is not going to get back up anytime soon. "I thought you were supposed to take them out while I had them occupied."

"Kinda hard to save the day when you're too busy showing off."

You shrug off Circus's complaint. Not your fault you were flying too fast for the Maras to shoot or even keep track of. Wait, no, yes it was. Moving on.

Fiddling with the screen again, you zoom out from just your area to take a look around the compound. It looks like the other groups are working well, too; a decent portion of the red dots have changed to yellow, signifying that those particular enemies are safely unconscious. You flip it back to its previous settings and take a peek through the door at the far side of the room. "Oh, that's cute. There's a group waiting for us to open the door and surprise us."

"If they want a surprise, we shouldn't keep them waiting." Cailleach walks over to stand eight feet or so from the door. "It looked like you picked up those chairs with a gravity beam or something else to the same effect. Can you do the same to this door?"

"It was just telekinesis, but yes." You get into position yourself. "Ready?"

She nods, raising her hands to the level of her chest.

You pull the door open as fast as you can, and Cailleach unleashes a stream of ice and snow and wind, the kind of winter gale you would expect to see on Everest instead of Philly. The door is only mostly open when she fires, so there is now an inch-thick layer of ice coating the edge of the door. No one has tried shooting her yet, and finally she cuts off her attack and nods in satisfaction. "That should put them out of commission for a while."

You thread your way through the frozen Maras, and despite knowing that your powers are from different sources you cannot help but wonder at the visual similarities to the aftereffect of Frost Beam. "Are they still awake and conscious in there?"

"…You know, I've honestly never asked them afterwards? They come out of it okay, I know that much."

"Little creepy, Princess," taunts Circus.

"While we're all in a chatty mood…" Cailleach detonates another ice sculpture in the next room, and you charge through in to spread a round of Flare Shooters around to keep the gangsters down. "What made you decide to come along with us, Witch? I thought you'd hang around with Miss Militia and Cinderella."

"They and you are the two groups who don't have much synergy with their powers. Miss Militia has enough experience to work around it, and Cinderella might as well. You guys don't." Adding that Circus's powers are fairly weak probably will not do much but raise tempers, so that bit you keep to yourself. "Besides, you helped me out when the Beasts attacked those high schoolers, and then when the Maras attacked the PRT back before the Behemoth fight. It's only right that I repay the favor. Question for you, Circus. You're the only villain from Brockton Bay who came to Philadelphia. How come?"

"Maybe I'm not the only one. Maybe I have a legion of supervillains in hiding who are just waiting for my signal to take the city for ourselves." You give the clown and her wide, maniacal smile a flat stare, and from the corner of your eye you see Cailleach doing the same. Circus shrugs and drops the expression off her painted face. "It isn't like there were that many local villains who left in the first place. ABB was stuck until Lung got Butcher-fied and flew off, and Oni Lee died about that time too. Half the Empire was stuck, and the rest came to break them out. You turned all them to crispy critters. Merchants are still there. Last I heard of Faultline's bunch, they had moved out to Virginia or some place like that. And the Undersiders snuck out and nobody knows where they are now, though I've heard a couple of rumors they might be in Boston. The rest of the solo artists, I don't know and don't care.

"As for me? Don't like Boston, and this place was close enough not to be too long a trip. Just waited to make sure my old boss wasn't around. He paid well, but he was an asshole. Always had stuff for me to do. I wanna be able to do what I want when I want.

"My turn to ask a question now, right? You two already got yours." You shrug, Cailleach nods, and Circus leers. "What's you girls' cup sizes?"

A Flare Shooter explodes as a burst of light in her face.

Two rooms beyond your current location is the last cluster of gangsters, these all appearing to be back to back. Did they hear the screams of their fellows being subdued? While you and Cailleach discuss it, Circus dashes off to the corner of the room and points up at the balcony above her. "Think this goes to that room?"

You take a longer look at it. If it was meant for the floor supervisor to be able to walk around and watch what was going on, that would make sense. "It might."

Circus makes an overhead swing, and a grappling hook flies up and over the rail. A hop sends her shimmying upwards. Shaking your head at the sight, you turn to Cailleach. "Want a lift?"

"Yeah, thanks. Just don't make it weird."

"Weird? Why would it be weird?" All you're doing is offering to carry her up to the balcony.

"Maybe you don't remember what you were like with a concussion, but I do. Don't make this weird." She turns around and raises a forbidding finger. "And no bridal carry."

"Good grief, fine," you say, throwing up your hands in disgust. Last time you offer to fly her anywhere. "Is a piggyback ride too much for you, _Princess_?"

That, at least, the cowled cape is willing to tolerate. Letting her clamber onto your back, you take off and land a couple of seconds later on the balcony. Only when Cailleach has walked a few steps away do you take a surreptitious sniff. Weird it might be, but why do you smell flowers and why are they familiar?

Walking through the supervisor's office, the three of you slowly walk onto the balcony above the last Maras in your quarter of the compound. None of them look up, thankfully, and you nudge Cailleach and point at the hole in the center. She nods, and you hold up one finger. She needs to hold on for just a second. You go back into the office so the gang members cannot hear the _bang bang_ of two cartridges being used up. A swarm of bullets form, and you carefully direct them in a steady stream up to the ceiling and over your targets.

Now you nod.

Another explosion of ice throws the gathered gangsters around, and you drop the homing Burst-encoded bullets on them to finish the job. You give her a smile at how easily you have managed this, and then you turn to look at Circus. Your smile fades when you see her reclining in a beach chair she must have pulled from her storage space. "Oh, don't mind me. Carry on, chop chop."

« _Taylor,_ » you hear in your head, and you sigh in relief. This is a welcome distraction.

« _Hey, Sam. Are you guys all done over there, too?_ »

« _Eh._ » You can almost see your Guardian Beast's shrug. « _Not the word I'd use. We ran into a bit of a complication. Seems dog boy wasn't so cocky as to think there's no way he would lose and had an escape route planned out. Once Luz and the other Maras he had with him went down, he and Oscuro took off into the storm sewers. Chev and Jotunn are leading us down there now._ »

"Dammit!" Cailleach and Circus jump at your sudden exclamation. "Cadejo's getting away. Storm, call Miss Militia and bring up Sam's connection."

From the right-hand screen comes the sound of multiple machine guns going off. _"Now isn't a good time, Calamity!"_

" _Update from our side of thing,"_ Samantha says before you can reply. _"Cadejo and Oscuro have fled for the storm sewers, and now that I'm talking to you, Chevalier is telling me to tell you that as soon as you've finished with the unpowered members, he wants you and anyone else who can to join us down here. Oscuro's still screwing with us, but she's having trouble setting up her effect because they have to keep running. If they escape, though, they're just going to come back as angry as ever. This city can't survive another gang war like this."_

"Cailleach, Circus, and I have already cleared out this building," you add, "and we were loud enough all the Maras nearby came to investigate. We can either stick around and teleport everybody or head out early—"

" _No. If the three of you are done, back Chevalier up now. The rest of us will catch up. We_ cannot _let Cadejo get away, not after all this. Get in there and bring him down."_

* * *

 **Circus was a lot of fun to write. :D And Cailleach, too, even if she isn't sure what to make of Taylor right now.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	97. Civil War 8-15

**Civil War 8.15**

"It will be my pleasure," you say before shutting down her screen. Now how to get there? Sure, you could run through the building and into the storm sewers, but that's just so plebeian. "Samantha, send me your coordinates. I'll teleport to your side."

" _Transmitting now."_

"Are you limited to self-teleportation?" You turn around to find Cailleach staring at you meaningfully. "Or can you bring people with you?"

"We'll be engaged in close quarters combat, and you aren't a Brute," you remind her.

"I'm aware. You're not the only one he owes a pound of flesh."

Okay, then. That… came out a little more vicious than you would have expected. You tilt your head at Circus, and the clown sighs. "Well, you know what they say. Two's company, three's a party. Sure, why not. Let's go hunt down an intangible, invulnerable serial killer just because we can. Fuck my life."

Tapping the ground with the butt of your staff, you give the girls a cold smile as your casting sigil spreads out beneath you. "Hold onto something."

A wave of orange light surrounds you and whisks you into the dark storm sewers, and when the effect fades you sweep your gaze around the capes who had all immediately spun around to keep the strange phenomenon in their crosshairs. "Backup, reporting as ordered," you call out to Chevalier, who is at the front of the group and has already resumed jogging ahead now that he knows you aren't a threat. The rest start moving again, too, sweeping you away in their tide as they follow the warm glow of Solaire's armor. You call up a few Flare Shooters to act as floating lanterns, but no matter how bright you make them they can barely pierce the gloom with the tunnel.

This must be what Samantha meant by Oscuro screwing with them. It is hard to chase down somebody when you can barely see five feet in front of your face.

"Just you three?" scoffs Snow White.

"We were the first to clear our quadrant, and I can teleport. The others will catch up when they can." Turning your eyes back to the front, you reach out to Samantha. « _Keep an eye on Cailleach and Circus for me, will you?_ »

« _Ah-ha! You made some friends._ »

« _More like they're the squishiest targets. There's a reason they volunteered to take on the gang members, yet here they are anyway. They may be villains, but_ …» You smile a little as Kayleigh's words come back to you. « _It looks like they got the push they needed to get over themselves. Let's not allow their good deed to be punished just yet._ »

"Shouldn't be too much trouble," Samantha says out loud. "It's only Cadejo, Oscuro, and a couple of regular Maras who got away. Turns out somebody made a hole through the foundation to access this place, and once he realized he wasn't going to win this fight, he jumped onto a rug covering it with the others right behind him. Took a couple of minutes before Oscuro's illusion weakened to the point we could see anything at all. If he's running, it means he's afraid."

"One little problem with that," mutters Cailleach from beside you. A glance over prompts more detail. "If he's running away from us and into the lair of those monster-capes, how scared could he really be? What are the chances this is a trap?"

Your Shooters burst into blinding brilliance, and you cover your face as you desperately turn the light down. Once the bullets are back to normal, you open one eye and then the other. Where once the storm sewers were so dark that you could barely see anything beyond your group, now the lights strung up along the ceiling are lit, and an intersection about fifty feet away is fully visible.

Did Cadejo turn the lights on? That would make sense, but it does not explain why your bullets were so dull before. You had assumed that was Oscuro's doing.

"Hey, Chevy?" Samantha asks in a tight voice. "What are the chances Cadejo and friends _didn't_ realize they were running into Beast country?"

"…Shit." Chevalier pulls his cannonblade off his back and takes up a guarding position. "Reorganize the group. Close-range fighters on the outside, anyone with long-range abilities within. Snow White, give us a line of dwarves in front of us and behind. Either Oscuro's toying with us, in which case this is an ambush, or else the effect ended with her death, in which case things are still going to become messy in short order."

The group moves forward with far less enthusiasm than it once had, and as you reach the intersection your height proves to be an advantage, letting you see over the people standing in front of you.

Chevalier was right. It is quite messy.

The unpowered gangsters are spread out on the floor… and the walls, and a little bit of the ceiling. You're pretty sure Oscuro is mixed up with them, too, but you can't say that for sure at this distance. Three of Cadejo's dogs are dancing among their remains, lunging and biting at the thick bodies and matted fur of a group of Rats. « _Where are his other bodies?_ »

« _Chevalier's new toy. It looks like a funky laser pistol, but it popped the dogs like soap bubbles, and supposedly if he got all of them the last one would turn back into Cadejo and leave him unable to change for a couple of minutes. Lousy range, though._ »

Jotunn shifts a little closer to Chevalier and says, "Once he realizes his teeth aren't enough to hurt them, he'll run, and we won't be able to fight them all off before he has slipped our grasp entirely."

"I know."

"If he escapes, this battle won't stop. You know it. I know it. They know it. The Maras will drown our city in blood. They will never let this defeat go, just like they did not let Corpus Christi go. They will slip away for a short time, long enough for us to let our guards down, and then they will return in force and kill us in our sleep."

"Yes, Jotunn, I'm well aware of that. Do you have a solution you would like to propose, or are you just pointing out the obvious?"

"I do. Solaire." Your fellow flame-wielding cape reaches behind her back, and from her sheath she pulls out not the mace you have watched her swing around previously but a single-round grenade launcher, the kind you've seen in movies that break open like a shotgun. "The Unwritten Rules are lines in the sand, boundaries that all civilized capes recognize lay between what is acceptable behavior and what is not. Leave civilian identities undisturbed. Respect a Truce when called. No wanton destruction and murder of innocent bystanders." Jotunn shakes his head. "MS-13 have violated every single one of those principles, and those who trample over the Unwritten Rules do not deserve to benefit from their protection.

"Fire."

Solaire aims and pulls the trigger with a flat _thoom_.

The grenades hits the ground in the middle of the Rats and explodes into a cloud of white mist, and before your eyes the trio of dogs blur and streak into a single grey blob, which then resolves into a shirtless Hispanic man. You can't see his face before a massive clawed paw slams into it, and the Beasts fall upon him.

"A nasty piece of work," he admits to the dead silence that accompanies the Rats continuing their grisly butchery. "Angel Dust cooked up a volatile liquid that would temporarily shut down a parahuman's power upon inhalation. We tested it on me when it was completed, so we knew it will revert Breaker forms. It was not safe to use while we were all grouped together within its area of effect, but that is no longer an issue."

A sudden movement to your side draws your eye, and you glance over to find Cailleach with her arms crossed around herself. What little of her face between her hood and mask appears tinged with green, though whether it is due to the graphic sight in front of you or her boss's ruthless pragmatism you cannot say.

To be honest, you don't feel much better.

It would be wonderful if that were the end of the matter. Pull back quietly, walk back to the opening to the building, and put off dealing with the Beasts for another day. That, to your regret, is not what happens.

Carnage completed, the Rats now look in the direction from which the grenade came in a display of intelligence greater than what was shown by the first Beasts you ran into all those months ago. The closest Rat opens its mouth and screeches until a cannonball caves in its chest.

"Retreat!"

No one argues with Chevalier's order. The dwarves created by Snow White rush at the Beasts in an attempt to distract them. You create a full dozen Flare Shooters to launch as well before you turn around and run instead of the hasty backpedaling you had needed to aim. A now-familiar echoing crack signifies that Cailleach is also trying to help cover your escape.

You pass an intersection, and suddenly Flop's patched-up overcoat is replaced by a broad expanse of black fur.

Shouts and screams and the varied sounds of powers coming alive fill the narrow corridor. You throw a left-handed uppercut at the Rat, the pitiful strength behind the blow irrelevant considering there is a Burst-type Flare bullet sitting on the top of your fist when it hits. Hot blood splatters your face the next second. It is far too crowded for you to try your normal bombardment strategies, but you have entirely too many allies around to swing around a four-foot-long blade of ten-thousand-degree plasma, as well. Reading your thoughts, Perfect Storm deploys a thinner blade of only a single foot and a half in length, and with an expression of rage you go to town hacking at every Beast who gets in arm's reach.

You will never get the smell of burnt dog hair out of your nose.

"Duck!"

You drop to your knees in time for a blast of winter's fury to cross the space where your torso just was and drive finger-length needles of ice into a Rat's chest. Looking at the other cape, you grab Cailleach's ankle and yank it out from under her. She falls, and you pop up with a skyward strike that cleaves another Beast from groin to neck. You would never try something like this with a metal blade, but as with every other strike you have just delivered the flesh disintegrates before the heat of your spell.

"Eww!" Cailleach grunts as she is splashed with all the blood and innards that were not flash-cauterized, which is most of it. "Ugh. Thanks?"

You grab onto her outstretched hand and haul her to her feet. "Don't mention it."

« _For the record, I_ hate _this Rat-Slime combination!_ » Samantha yells in your head. You look behind you to find her swinging two flat shards of metal like short swords, the raw edges sharpened with the silver glimmer of her Shredding Paw spell. The bodies she just carved into pieces are switched for new, living replacements that Chevalier treats as targets for his unreasonably wide sword. « _Those Slime things need line of sight to teleport things. Taylor, find them and burn them to ash!_ »

"It would help if I could see them or had time to cast Wide Area Search," you mutter under your breath. "Storm, a little help would be appreciated."

Fireballs form around your hand while you glare into the gloom down the unlit tunnel. Details become clear and colors distort as your Intelligent Device compensates for the minuscule amount of light available. Where are they, where are they…?

There!

A mass of shapes, some of them scrambling around like humanoids, but five in particular are sloshing around with a distinctly more gelatinous gait. "I have you now," you whisper. Tags appear above them, vectors and distances being calculated. "Die."

A thrust of your arm, and the magic bullets fly straight and true.

For the first time in four months, your backside _burns_ , and you shriek and dive forwards into an impromptu somersault. Looking behind you at what the _hell_ just happened, you watch a frost-coated Rat fall face-first into the ground. Teeth trying their hardest to chatter, you grind out, "Watch where you're shooting that thing."

"Are you okay?"

You give her a nod after a quick mental inventory of your person. In hindsight, your shout was surprise more than pain. Now the burn you feel is embarrassment lighting up your cheeks; of all the things to be caught by surprise by… Besides, she actually sounds concerned for your well-being after she caught you with what you assume was the outer edge of her attack, which soothes your ire if not your ass. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just…" You glance around at the rapidly dwindling numbers of Beasts now that they are no longer being teleported in and take a step closer so you won't be as easily overheard. "When you're throwing around ice-cold wind like that, please keep in mind that some of us are wearing miniskirts."

Cailleach tilts her head to get a better look at the plasma now hovering a couple of inches away from your rear and wisely keeps her mouth shut.

"Calamity Witch, do you still have contact with Miss Militia?" asks Chevalier, walking up and flicking blood off his cannonblade. "If she and the others have yet to enter the storm sewers, I need them to stand guard over the opening. We did our best to lock down every entry point to the storm sewers prior to Behemoth's attack. The last thing we need is them boiling out from that hole while we're all still down here."

You call Miss Militia and relay the information, half your attention on the conversation while the rest is busy watching the rest of the capes regroup. The big problem with a mixed bunch like this is that since no one knows anyone on more than a pseudonym basis, they aren't bunching up where you can check on a group at at time. Not even Winter Hill is standing together— "Where's Solaire?" you ask even as you perform a quick headcount. "And Mishmash?"

"Solaire was right in front of Chevalier and me," Jotunn says, his blue skin crinkling in growing anger. "We were focused on keeping the Beasts behind us at a distance, but I know she threw several of her swords between us for a few seconds. I thought she had turned her attention to the mêlée instead."

"Last time I saw Mishmash, she was getting switched with one of the monsters," volunteers Snow White.

Switched? You wheel around and stare down the length of the tunnel where you had seen the Slimes. The other shapes back there had been farther back and not your primary concern, so Perfect Storm had stopped enhancing your night vision once you found them, but you still saw something moving around. You assumed all the proper humanoids were Rats, but what if they weren't?

"Something was going on back there when I was busy with the Slimes. I can't say for sure what it was, but the Rats that were there haven't rushed us. I'm starting to think that's a bad sign."

"What are you talking about? You think those things just decided to kidnap a couple of us?" argues Hellbeast. The armored Brute shakes his horned helmet. "That doesn't make any sense. What would they even want them for? Food?"

"No. Not food." Everyone turns to Chevalier. "Our best theory right now is that Typhon, the bio-Tinker who created the Beasts, has a Trump aspect to his power that lets him derive new creatures with powers taken from other capes. That is why they would have been captured."

Cailleach becomes rigid. "Then what are we waiting for? We need to move."

"Hold on, Cailleach. This is not the time for rash actions—"

"That's my _teammate_ they've taken!" she shouts. "Do you really expect me, either of us, to just walk away and leave her to be killed and tortured or whatever it is they do?!"

"We are _not_ abandoning your teammate!" The ice villainess takes a startled step backwards at the steel in Chevalier's voice. Speaking more softly now, he continues, "But we cannot rush after her in a panic. If we do that, it won't be a rescue party; all we'll have done is hand ourselves over to be captured alongside her. We need to move quickly but cautiously. Those of us who can still do so."

You follow his gaze to the red- and blue-garbed Spiderbite, who is lying on his back moaning quietly with both his legs bent at disturbing angles. Next to him, Circus is cradling her still-bleeding head while Flop is utterly motionless.

"I can take them to the surface," volunteers Samantha in the ensuing silence. "Won't take me long to teleport them up to Miss Militia and get back down here. Not even a minute assuming she wants a more thorough briefing on what happened down here. Don't be surprised if there's suddenly a lot of orange light next to Calamity Witch."

"Hurry back. The rest of you?" The leader of the Protectorate hefts his massive blade onto his shoulder. "Follow me."

The six of you step forwards into the darkness.

* * *

 **This fight scene was getting a bit too long, so I'm cutting it here. Be warned, next chapter gets kind of gruesome.**

 **To be continued…**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	98. Civil War 8-16

**Last time on Magical Girl Escalation Taylor…**

" _Hurry back. The rest of you?" The leader of the Protectorate hefts his massive blade onto his shoulder. "Follow me."_

 _The six of you step forwards into the darkness._

* * *

 **Civil War 8.16**

The positioning is a little more manageable now than it was when there were twice your number trying to navigate the obscured tunnels. In front are two lines of dwarves, their fists larger and more roughly hewn than you have ever seen before; not even hands so much as raw chunks of stone half the size of their heads. Next are Chevalier and Jotunn, armored and Brute respectively and the best able to take whatever the Beasts dish out. Then comes Snow White and Cailleach, safe in the middle as the squishiest capes here. Your Barrier Jacket should tolerate nearly as much punishment as Jotunn's Breaker form if not the same amount, but by being placed in the fourth spot not only can your main attacks easily fly around the capes up ahead you can also turn around to cover your flank should you need to reprise your earlier role of Grim Reaper. Hellbeast takes the rearguard position with another half-dozen dwarves.

You are as ready to take on the world of monsters as you're ever going to be.

Not that 'ready as you're ever going to be' and 'ready enough for your peace of mind' are synonymous. You would really prefer to have a few more capes or mages or even just a bunch of people with big guns wandering around with you, too. What in the world is taking Samantha so long? You flick your eyes toward the little screen orbiting your right wrist like a bracelet and displaying the time only to see that it has not been ten seconds since the last time you checked. Get it together, Taylor.

A loud, deep bellow interrupts your worrying, and you brace yourself for an onslaught of Rats. Chevalier reacts, too. Taking a massive step ahead, he plants his sword into the stone floor and lets go as it instantly grows to the point that the end of the handle is pressed against the ceiling and the blade is five feet wide. As large and as strong as the blade looks, it still shudders when something hits it with an ear-ringing _clang_.

Jotunn, who had whirled around to place himself behind the cover of the sword, swears sulfurously. "Those things again?"

"Those things again."

Leaning forwards, you whisper to Cailleach, "What things again?"

"I'm going to guess it's the blasted turtle-monsters again." She turns her head to see your clueless expression and explains, "When we went after the Beasts last time, there were these things that looked like weird fucking turtles. They swallowed rocks and spat them back out at stupidly high speed. Nearly took both Jotunn and Chevalier down last time. It's a big reason for why we had to pull back. We didn't know how many there were, and most of us can't take a cannonball to the chest and keep on ticking."

Oh how pleasant. "How fast can they re—" Another probably rock hits the blade. "Never mind. That fast."

It's amazing how useful the basic spells can be sometimes. The highly familiar ball of red gathers before you, and you unleash the storm of sparks and pray that Chevalier's sword can last through the barrage long enough for you to map out the area. Orange light washes over you. "Hey, what's—"

You slash your hand downwards. A dozen white-hot Flare Shooters fly, screaming your fury for all to hear. They pass the sword-wall and continue on, hitting the enemy pictured on your screen and burning their way through. Red becomes black, and you nod. "It's taken care of."

"Trouble?" Samantha asks. She takes a look at the screen, particularly the large number of red dots that still surround you. "Yep. That looks like trouble."

"Samantha briefed us on what happened," Miss Militia says, stepping up and all but daring Chevalier to try to reprimand her. "Cinderella and Gush are covering the exit. If anything comes out, he can trap them in his spray while she shreds them with her glass. The others felt their powers would contribute little to this venture."

"Cowards," the speedy Mishmash sister says in a voice that makes no secret of just how deep her contempt for those individuals runs. Then again, she has a personal stake in this fight. The others don't.

Chevalier shrinks his blade back to its normal size. "I understand their concern. This is a dangerous fight, more dangerous even than that against the MS-13. They were human, with human sensibilities. These Beasts are not. No one would blame you if you waited for us to return with your sister."

"We would." Mishmash shakes her head. "You couldn't understand. We were born together, and we'll die together. I can't just leave her behind and hope someone else brings her back. She'd never forgive me, and I'd never forgive me either."

"Very well. Calamity Witch." You turn to face the leader of this expedition. "Does that tracker tell us where we're going?"

In lieu of answering, you turn the screen horizontal to the floor and pull the front and back apart to create a cube of hologram. The dots spread out in three dimensions, and Perfect Storm recreates the maze of sewers to show a path deeper into their territory. Two of the dots, rather than being red, blink a bright yellow before they and the red dots next to them move off the edge of the screen. "If I were a betting woman, I'd say the route they took is probably this one." Your fingers trace a line through the tunnels. "It takes us by an awful lot of Beasts, though."

"It does, but this one?" Jotunn points to another route. Longer, less direct, but with fewer monsters to kill along the way. "This one might just work."

Chevalier and Miss Militia both take a look at the path and start discussing a few changes with the leader of Winter Hill. Cailleach takes a step back and mutters to you, "Now I kind of wish you had been around when we went after these things last month. Would have saved us a lot of trouble."

"Why? What happened back then?"

"The seven of us – us and the Protectorate, no Wards – came down here thinking that we could take on Typhon and his beasties. Turns out that wasn't the case, and we were armpits deep in monsters before we finally fought our way back out. Pounce and Sere had to get meds from Angel Dust to get back in shape. Would have been nice to scoot around them instead."

"Then it looks like we have a route," Chevalier says loudly enough to recall your attention to him. "Calamity Witch, can you keep this map updated with the Beasts' movements?" You nod. "Thank you. Everyone, continue in formation, and remember that these aren't people. They're monsters created by a bio-Tinker who needs to be brought to justice. We move quickly and kill anything in our path."

The route chosen passes by the corpse of the Turtle, and you can't help but take a closer look as you pass by. It's a boxy-looking beast, covered in a glossy grey shell and with a large head bearing a sharp beak. The mouth is definitely wide enough to swallow a good-sized stone to spit back out, and at that speed? Yes, you can see how these things would be dangerous. On the plus side, you doubt they can move their own bodies fast enough to chase anyone down. More likely they sit in place like silent sentinels, their presence only identified when they choose to fire at intruders.

Gaunts serving as early-warning systems, Turtles as cannon turrets. About the only good thing you can say about this discovery is that hopefully it means you are close to Typhon's workshop.

About halfway to the edge of the map, you run into a multi-tunnel intersection that reminds you far too much of the one where you and Miss Militia first encountered the Gaunts. Flare Shooters fly at the vines lurking along the archways, and the gunslinging heroine along with Cailleach dash in to fire phosphorus and frost at the shapes still squirming on the floor.

"Calamity Witch," Jotunn says sharply, "do they know we're here?"

You glance at the map and watch the shifting dots. "I think so… Nope. Not entirely, anyway. Some are moving in this direction, but it's a fairly small group. not all of them. No more than…" Doing a quick count, you grimace. "Twenty?"

A small number compared to the larger whole, but still twice your own number. You create another screen next to the floating model and bring up a visual of the group. The majority are Rats, but in the middle of them is a single Spider that you already know is capable of reviving their dead. Two Gaunts round out their party, the creatures gliding through the air on membranous ectoplasm strung between long, spindly bones that have sprouted from their sides. So they don't have to just be rings of plants or vague headless humanoids, you realize with a small burst of nausea; they can just rearrange the sticks that make up their bodies and form the necessary flesh from nothing. It's a good thing they burn so easily, or killing them would be a problem and a half.

"Where are they coming from?" Once you point out the tunnel from which the scouting team will emerge, Miss Militia moves to stand directly in the line of sight of anyone or anything coming at her. Her shotgun falls apart into a crackling black and green blur, and when energy reverts into matter once again she stands behind a turret, a six-barreled machine gun sticking out from between two thick sheets of metal. "Everyone get behind me and cover your ears. Things are about to get loud."

"Wait, isn't loud a bad thing?"

Hellbeast's question is cut off by the echoing _rata-tata-tata-tata-tata_ of her machine gun, white streaks flying from the barrel down the tunnel and into the Beasts at the other end. A dull light blooms deeper in, and you groan when all the dots start moving towards you. "We need to go, people!"

"This way!" Miss Militia's emplaced gun vanishes, and she leads the charge down another tunnel. "We take this path, a left turn two hundred feet in, and there should be a small room off the path after another five hundred feet where we can wait for the Beasts further in to run past us. They'll all congregate where the noise was, and that takes out the majority of the Beasts between us and the tunnel where they took Solaire and Mishmash… the other Mishmash… Why do the three of you use the same name?!"

"It makes sense in context!" the speedster shouts back.

Mishmash is the first to dive into the room – almost more of an alcove, really – but the rest of you are not far behind her. Chevalier is the last to enter, and he again enlarges his sword so that it mostly blocks off the entrance. Not a second too soon, either, as you soon hear the pounding of feet on the other side. There are no lights in this room, not with your Flare Shooters dismissed, and you watch the screen nervously. Don't stop, don't turn around, don't stop, don't turn around, don't stop…

The red dots slide past your position and keep going.

"We're safe," you whisper. "They didn't notice us."

Chevalier's voice is just as quiet. "We're getting close to the edge of your map. Is there any way to center it on our position?"

"I have to recast it, but yes, I can. Give me a minute." The screen vanishes, and you send out a new wave of scrying sparks and wait impatiently for another cubic display to appear. "Here. We're in the middle, and unless I'm way off-base"—you point to the two yellow dots that sit about as far away from your current location as you are from where you started—"I think I've found our lost capes."

Your earlier assumption was right after all. The Turtles are a last line of defense. Thank goodness for small favors.

"When we tried this last time, I think we were just on the other side of Typhon's workshop," Miss Militia says, clearly thinking on the same wavelength. "It explains how we could run into the Turtles so soon. We were practically on top of him already."

"More importantly, the route is now clear, and all our enemies are looking for us in the wrong place. Good thinking, Miss Militia," praises Jotunn.

Hellhound chooses that moment to break the mood. "That assumes we can get to them and get out before those things come back. If the red dots are the monsters, there's still a bunch waiting for us with them."

"Then we just need to take them by surprise."

With the path clearly, the ten of you do not waste time on subtlety. You run down the sewers, two salvos of Flare Shooters bobbing along above you while faint wisps of fog drift from Cailleach's hands. The other capes are just as ready for a fight as you are. "Almost there," you tell them, voice tight from the stress. "Intersection after this one, turn right and they'll be dead ahead."

"Then you, Cailleach, and Miss Militia take the lead. I'll shoot from behind you. Snow White, send a squad of your dwarves out as well. The rest of you, be ready to jump in if we can't kill them before they reach us. And be careful! We don't want to hurt Mishmash or Solaire."

No one dares to question Chevalier's orders. Reaching the intersection, you skid along the wet ground and would have fallen were it not for your flight. It is enough to slow down and see your targets, though, and that is all that matters.

Twenty-four fireballs seek out their targets with lethal intent.

A boom. A chain of cracks. The whistle of a winter gale. The pounding of little feet. The others' attacks join your own, and you watch the Slimes fall first into puddles of yellow mucus and then the bodies of the Rats fall into the puddles. The single Turtle's head implodes from the force of the cannonball slamming into it. As quickly as it began, it is over. You flick a single Flare Shooter at the lone remaining Gaunt lying in wait before it can reach tendrils out to grab the two capes running back to you, and you can't help but smile as you watch the two Mishmash sisters latch onto each other and Cailleach pull Solaire into a hug while Jotunn gives her an awkward pat on the back, obviously not comfortable with public displays of affection considering the present mixed company.

"Dear God in heaven."

You follow Hellbeast's eyes and gulp as you spot what you had been too focused on the rescued capes to notice. The floor and walls of this section of sewer are carpeted in a thick layer of pinkish… stuff that you're afraid to put a name to. Stuffed in the corners and along the walls are vertical columns with egg-shaped bulges along their length the size of washing machines.

And hanging upside-down from the ceiling are _people_.

"…Mi… li… tia…"

The heroine in question turns her attention away from the reunions and covers her mouth in horror when her eyes meet those of a brunet teenager hanging a short distance away, everything below his waist torn away with muscular tentacles shoved into the hole. "No. Bouncer, what happened to you?"

His mouth quivers for a long moment before he can force the words out. "Kill… me…"

You can't look at this any more, and you turn your head away. Instead of being free of the horror, you find its cause. There on the ground lies another person, even more twisted than the rest. His skin is ripped and torn, stretched out before being glued to the stone around him. The pink stage of this horror spins and collects into tentacles that transition seamlessly into the stumps of arms and legs while smaller tendrils split apart and become a sickly yellow before plunging into his scalp. His eyes open, and you have to swallow down the bile that threatens to come up when you see one has been replaced with the blue faceted dome of an insect's eye while the other contains two complete irises.

The man's bottom jaw drops open, and you are afraid he too will demand an end to his torture. Instead, what comes out is a roar far too deep and loud for a human set of lungs.

"A Case 19." You look at Chevalier, more to have something familiar and sane to see than anything else. He interprets it as curiosity. "Case 53s are called _'monster capes'_ , but only by those who haven't seen the real monsters. Case 19s are people who Trigger with powers that they cannot control and that they are not protected from. A woman who bursts into flame and feels her body burning away. A man who dissolves into bugs and can feel them eating and dying. Maybe five cases have been documented that I'm aware of. Always it happens to capes with a Breaker or Changer state."

"What are we going to do now? It sounded like he was calling for help," Snow White interrupts.

You look at your screen and grimace when you see all the red headed your way. Whatever the plan is, you need to do it quick.

Chevalier turns to Miss Militia, who is already looking his way. After a couple of seconds, she nods, and her shotgun turns into a nozzle connected by a hose to a tank on her back. "Calamity Witch, I need your help. No one deserves to suffer like this."

A nod, and you flick out a swarm of Flare Shooters while she sprays liquid fire over the garden of madness. Your bullets explode into clouds of flame, and the two of you walk backwards after the others even as you fill the room with more and more fire. Everything here needs to burn. Typhon, his victims, everything.

It is what you would want in their place.

The heat eventually gets too much for Miss Militia to stand, and she backs away while you direct more fireballs at the few spots in the room not yet put to the torch. "It's done," you say when you finally turn around and rejoin the group. "Now we just need to fight our way back out."

"No," Samantha says gently, "I don't think we do."

The ground around the corner is where the bodies start. Rats, Spiders, Gaunts; they all litter the floor, their flesh rotting to nothing in the span of minutes. Deprived of the consciousness – or what was left of it – that had previously driven them, they are nothing more than lifeless puppets that can not even maintain themselves.

"How did that… thing… even make so many of these monsters? Where did he get all the meat?" Snow White asks.

"Rats. Fungus. Maybe ate into the sewage system." Jotunn shakes his head. "Or perhaps he could simply pull more matter out from nowhere. There's no way to know."

Samantha pulls you into a tight hug, and you wrap your arm around her in response. You suppose the hows and whys no longer matter.

All that matters is that this nightmare is over.

* * *

 **Okay, that. Is. DONE! Whew. MS-13's out of the way, Typhon and his Beasts are finished, and Philly is safe. All it took was four months, or sixteen if you count from when the Beasts were first introduced in 4.3.**

 **Holy shit, this quest has been running since April 2016, even though I didn't post in on FFN until it had been going for a long while. It doesn't feel like it's been that long.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	99. Civil War 8-x

**Simianpower:** If you're unhappy about how the plot threads are developing, join Sufficient Velocity and get the players to focus on one thing at a time. I'm just the GM for this quest; they're the ones deciding what to do.

* * *

 **Civil War 8.x**

 **Samstag, 28 Wonnemanod, 0080**

"We're getting feedback now, but the interference is still there."

"Increase power and adjust base frequency. We are too close to contact to let this slip through our fingers."

Teana watched the Sojourner's crew work on the radio with a frown. A nudge to her arm made her glance over at Erga, who unlike her was the very definition of relaxed. "Ease up, Lanster. If scowling was gonna get this working again, we woulda been talking to Command weeks ago."

That was the problem. Weeks ago. If they had managed to get the reactor and the radio repaired even one week ago, they might have been able to avoid the disaster that was the meeting with their local contact. Unfortunately, that just was not the case even with the engineering staff cannibalizing the least essential systems of the ship for replacement parts.

She was not looking forward to this debriefing. Not in the slightest.

"Contact confirmed!" cheered the communications officer.

Captain Aska nodded. "Strong work, Ensign. Commander, Lieutenant Commander, the comms are yours."

"Thanks, Cap." Shrugging his shoulders, Erga waved at the screen that appeared in front of them and said, "Enforcer Command, this is Commander Arton Erga, ID number 558F4. I need to speak with Admiral Tucson immediately."

The officer on the screen smiled back. _"Good to see you're still in one piece, Erga. Give me a moment to patch you through."_

The Enforcer insignia appeared, but soon enough it was replaced by the relieved face of the Enforcers' highest officer. _"Erga, Lanster. Took you long enough. We were all starting to get worried around here."_

"Ah, you do love me."

" _You know what? Considering the circumstances, I'm actually going to let that one go,"_ Admiral Tucson said with a sigh. _"Report."_

She and Erga exchanged glances for a moment before she took a step forwards. The admiral might be relieved enough to ignore Erga's lip this time, but she was in no mood to see if that would last through catching him up on everything that had happened. "Three and a half weeks ago, the day after our last contact, we encountered what I can only describe as a controlled dimensional dislocation."

Tucson's eyes widened, and for good reason. Dimensional dislocations were rifts in the Dimensional Sea, bottomless holes that led to annihilation within Imaginary Space. Small dislocations would ravage cities, and the largest had supposedly erased the primordial civilization of Al-Hazard from existence. Even worlds not directly experiencing the event could be thrown into chaos from the immense gravitational waves dislocations threw out. _"I take it you avoided it at the last moment?"_

"No, sir. We didn't even know it was there until we had already flown straight through it. I've never seen anything like it, sir. Paper-thin, almost as it were an artificial barrier to keep something out." And wasn't that a terrifying thought? She had no clue how much power was needed and how advanced the technology would have to be to turn a multiversal disaster into a privacy screen, but she would be perfectly happy never finding out the answer. "We were moving fast enough that we weren't torn apart by the gravity shear, but it still damaged the engines to the point we could not remain in Dimensional Space. We crash-landed on the nearest planet."

" _So much for discretion,"_ he muttered, _"but at least now we know what brought down the Agharti. If it had already fought off pirates, it could have been in bad enough shape that it did not handle the dislocation as well as you did and was torn apart. How many people saw your arrival?"_

"None."

Tucson brought his head up to stare at her. _"None? Our local contact made it sound like her world had a substantial population."_

"It probably does. We did not land on her exact world, though. Earth Bet is a cluster world. Our astrometry counts fifteen dimensions within extremely close proximity, plus another two or three that we can't conclusively identify."

" _A cluster world of fifteen to eighteen,"_ he repeated. _"That rivals the Haranyl cluster, the largest cluster world we have ever located."_

Teana nodded. "It was a surprise to us, too. We've been searching the worlds to find out which one is hers as quickly as we could, but with the Sojourner grounded and its systems almost reduced to scrap, we have been limited to personal transfers, and Lieutenant Sambar can only transport a few people at a time even with the short distance we have to travel. It has taken longer than we like to perform a thorough search. Thankfully they are all low-magic worlds, so we have focused on scanning for active mana use to speed up the process."

" _Any success?"_

"You could say that," Erga interjected lazily.

She shot him a glare, and he grinned before pantomiming locking his mouth closed. Turning back to the admiral, she explained, "We were exploring Earth Bet-12 when we noticed such magic use. When we went over to obtain more information, we discovered the source was one of the Assimilation Engine's bombardment-types. We engaged her and were able to capture her, though not without inflicting injuries that required urgent medical attention. We immediately evacuated the area before any more converted mages or any of that world's Rare Skills users could find us."

" _Rare Skill users,"_ Tucson echoed before pulling a document up on another screen. _"Yes, I remember Taylor saying something about people with unique skills on her world. 'Parahumans', that's right."_

"That is one issue we aren't sure what to do about," she admitted. "We watched a few fight in secret before this, and none of their abilities triggered the mana sensors. I don't know how they can have Rare Skills without utilizing mana, nor how there can be that many unrelated Skills coming from one planet."

" _I don't know, either, but it matches what little information the Infinity Library could track down about this kind of phenomenon. It's only been documented once, in Middle Belkan times soon after the start of the Saint King Unification War. For a couple of generations adolescents started showing signs of Rare Skills that were unrelated to the Belkan casting style, but they all lost their abilities when the individuals in question began military training, and then the appearance of those skills petered out. They were found on Haranyl, if I remember right, so possibly it is limited to large cluster worlds like this for some reason,"_ he added thoughtfully. _"That is not our primary concern at this time, however. Continue with your report."_

"Yes, sir. Once she was completely healed and had awoken, we attempted to question her regarding the location of the Lost Logia." She paused to rally her scraps of courage so she could admit to their transgressions. "We ran into a slight issue at that point. The mage did not understand Mid-Childan the way the others did, nor Galean when I had Cross Mirage translate for me." His eyes narrowed, and she knew he understood how odd that was. The converted mages she had fought before all spoke Mid-Childan, and while the Assimilation Engine had picked up the language to communicate extremely briefly with her, prior to that it was issuing orders in Galean. A normal bombardment-type would have been able to understand one of those languages at the least. "After we returned her Device to her, we discovered she was, in fact, a local mage—"

" _A local mage?"_ interrupted Tucson in a hard voice. _"As far as I am aware, there should only be_ one _local mage on that planet. Lanster,_ please _tell me this was not Taylor you fired upon without provocation."_

She could not meet his eyes.

" _For the Kaiser's sake…"_

This was it. She was done for. How long had she spent working to get where she was now? The last third of her civilian education. The Ground Forces Academy. Boot camp. Disaster relief operations. Riot Force Six. Apprenticing under Fate. Finally becoming an Enforcer in her own right, achieving her goal of proving her and her brother's naysayers wrong. And now it was all coming crashing down on her head because she had screwed up beyond all imagining—

"Don't let little Lanster's eagerness to get punished fool you, Admiral." She whipped her head to the side to see Erga stepping up to her side. "Things are more complicated than that. Your Taylor? Turns out she picked up the Assimilation Engine and had it install the bombardment 'template' into her. 'Course," he added after a short pause, "that was only after she tamed a _Class-1 Lost Logia_. Don't know how she did it, but she convinced an interdimensional extinction event to pretend to be a regular Intelligent Device for her. Same Barrier Jacket as the other bombardment-types, same fire mana, same spells, just not a mindless killing machine. Everything pointed to her being converted. No way to know we had another Yagami on our hands. Hindsight's 20/20, but honestly, boss? If you put me in the same situation again with the information we had on hand, I can't say I'd make a different call."

The admiral sighed. _"Extenuating circumstances don't change the fact that our first encounter with our only available contact went the worst way possible. What happened next?"_

"Apologized, explained the situation and why we did what we did, made sure she and her familiar were all healed up, and helped her get back home with transfer coordinates so she could find us again if she wanted to. I figured all we could do at that point was salvage the situation as best as possible."

" _That's better than nothing, I suppose. I may be able to do some damage control of my own if she contacts Command again; it felt like I was able to establish some rapport with her last time."_ He ran his hands through his hair. _"I can't just let this go. You both realize that, I hope. Mistakes happen, we all know that, but rarely of this magnitude. Local contact fired upon, first contact with another world bungled horribly. About the only aspect of this situation that isn't as bad as it could be is that she is on a low-magic world that is unaware of the greater Dimensional Sea, so at least we don't have to worry about escalation to armed conflict between Earth Bet and the TSAB."_

A hand fell on her shoulder, and Erga steered her to the side and backwards. "I'm the one in charge of this mission if you'll recall, Admiral. I'm the one calling the shots here," he said in a strange voice. Not aggressive, no matter how his statement was phrased. In fact, he sounded almost… resigned.

The two men stared at each other for a long moment before Tucson nodded. _"You can expect there to be an inquest when you return, Commander Erga. You have to face the consequences of your actions. A permanent strike on your record at the very least, demotion to Lieutenant Commander or possibly First Lieutenant. The tribunal could even push for a full court-martial and dishonorable discharge, but I'll fight that one tooth and nail if it starts gathering real momentum."_ He gave Erga a wan smile. _"You're a good man, Erga. Keep yourself safe, and keep me informed of any change in the situation. You too, Lanster."_

"Yes, sir." The screen closed, and Teana squeezed her eyes shut before turning to her partner. When she spoke, her voice exposed her concern. "Of all the times for you to run your mouth, why right then? Now you're going to face a tribunal and—"

She was not prepared for his snickering, and her reprimand shriveled on her tongue. "Is that what you think just happened? He's throwing me to the wolves because I sassed him? Nah. We were gonna get spanked for this screw-up no matter what, just now it's all coming my way. Didn't you notice he didn't say what was gonna happen to you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

What? "H-He was just distracted by what you said, I think. He isn't planning to let me off the hook." Erga crossed his arms behind his back and took a couple of steps closer to the workstation where he called up another screen and started looking through files. He stopped soon enough when she whispered, "Why? Why would you do that? Trying to capture her for information? It was my idea."

For several seconds he stood unmoving, but eventually he dismissed the screen. "I'm not saying this again, Lanster, so listen up. You're a good Enforcer, and you got the drive to go far. Captain for sure, and I wouldn't be surprised to see admiral's stripes on your arm one of these days. But you're not getting there with this kind of black mark on your record, no matter how understandable a mistake it was.

"Me?" He turned around to give her a boyish grin. "The brass's been wanting to bust my balls for years. I just haven't given them a good enough reason yet. It was gonna happen eventually, though, so if I'm going down, might as well make the fall worth it, you know? Besides, you're not the commanding officer on this little shindig. I am. End of the day, you do what I tell you. My responsibility, my fault. You just learn from this." Erga winked at her. "Sounds like I won't be there next time to cover your ass."

Teana stared at him, unsure of just what to say. "Erga…"

"Nuh uh uh! No getting teary-eyed on me, got it? We need to get this bucket of bolts flightworthy again, or punishment will be the least of our concerns." He turned back to the console. "Not to mention, we forgot to tell the admiral he needed to get in touch with the Infinity Library again. If little miss Logia-whisperer and her death machine come back, I'd like to have some information about what happened to Galea ready. Maybe he'll appreciate knowing what happened to his world; maybe all it'll do is convince them that we aren't lying. Either way, better to have the facts than not."

* * *

 **And this is the end of Arc 8. Finally.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	100. Heatwave 9-1

**Heatwave 9.1**

 **Tuesday, May 31**

You step outside and throw your arms wide, luxuriating in the feel of warm sunlight on your face. This has been a stressful year, what with bullies, traitors, magic, new schools, and cape fights, but somehow you managed it. Exams have been taken, answer sheets have been turned in, assignments for next year have been written down, and finally summer vacation has arrived!

There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that can bring you down today.

"Taylor!"

Your arms drop to your sides, but the smile does not completely go away. Kayleigh has been much less annoyingly peppy this past week because of the stress of finals, which made her much more tolerable for extended periods of time without making you want to either duct-tape her mouth shut or take a nap because her limitless energy just wears you out. Knowing her, she probably wants to set up a date for a giant pool party or something.

Turning around, you sidestep the students still streaming out of the building and wait for Kayleigh to come out. To your utter lack of surprise, she is not alone, but instead of one of her regular friends she is walking out with a new girl with bangs dyed bright blue. The green trim on her uniform jacket denotes her as a junior, which explains why you have not seen her in any of your classes like the rest of Kayleigh's friends though not why they are together.

"Hey," Kayleigh says in a slight pant when she comes to a stop. Did she run the entire way after you or something? "Wanted to introduce you to somebody. Taylor, this is Laura Horrigan, my absolute best friend since I was, like, six years old. Laura, Taylor Hebert, new girl on the block."

"We've met," replies Laura in a dry voice.

Her voice is a little familiar, but it's the hair that does it. There are only so many girls you've met before with blue hair. Were it not for that, you probably never would have put two and two together. She acted much differently when she was drunk. "At Greg's party, right."

Kayleigh covers her mouth but cannot stifle her giggles in time, and Laura gives her a _look_. "Yes, the party, too. Let's have a bit of a chat, you and I."

The upperclassman walks you around to the side of the Winterrose Academy building before turning back to Kayleigh, who has followed the pair of you. "Can we get some privacy, please?"

"Sure, sure. No problem. I'll just give you two a little bit of alone time—"

"Kayleigh." The older girl gave a tight smile that made Kayleigh's teeth clack shut. "Shoo."

Your eyebrows rise when your friend scurries off. These two are supposed to be best friends, but you have to wonder just what kind of dynamic they have. Or is Laura really as irritated by this impending talk as she looks?

She sighs and holds out her hand. "Sorry about that. But as I was saying, that isn't the only place we know each other from. We've run into each other during work a few times." Cool mist starts wafting off her palm. You raise your eyes to meet hers. "You're Calamity Witch."

Well. That explains why she was so insistent on it just being the two of you.

"And you're Cailleach." She nods and cuts off her power. Now you have to wonder where she plans to go with this. If she means to fight you, perhaps thinking that you are without your 'Tinkertech' just because Perfect Storm is in standby form, she is in for an unhappy surprise, but her actions do not really fit that scenario. Why would she reveal herself when she could pelt you with ice from behind, or even better, catch you in the middle of one of her area blasts so no one could trace it back to her? No, that doesn't make any sense at all. Without a better option, you simply ask, "Why? And how, while you're in an explaining mood."

Laura looks away and purses her lips. "Regarding the how… I was telling Kayleigh about what we were up to Friday since she already knows about me, and your name slipped out. She didn't do it out of any kind of maliciousness, if you were worrying about that. It's just… " She cracks an unwilling smile. "I love that girl to pieces, but she is a total space cadet. I had a nice long talk with her about forgetting that kind of detail if she can't keep it to herself, so rest assured your secret is going no farther than the two of us."

"That doesn't explain why you'd out yourself to me. What, did you think, 'I'll just reveal my identity to her and everything will be hunky-dory'?" You know you sound more cynical right now than the actual supervillain, but you can't help it. What in the world made her think this was a good idea?

She shook her head. "Not in those exact words. More like it's the honorable thing to do, especially since you were unmasked during a Truce. Besides," she adds with a scoffing laugh, "you saved my life more than once last weekend. Holding this over your head is a poor way to repay you, don't you think? Now, are you really going to keep arguing for why I _shouldn't_ have done this and instead kept your identity to myself in case I need to hire a hitman or something, or are you going to just accept it and move on?"

…Yeah, that's probably the best move. "So where do we go from here?" you ask instead. Despite your confusion regarding this particular situation, you are vaguely familiar with the concept of mutual unmasking during serious things like Endbringer fights. No one has ever told you what comes afterwards, though.

"I don't know about you, but I expect I'll be busy for a while. Now that the Maras are officially kicked out of the city, new groups have already started scrambling to take over their territory and business. Not just local gangs, either. New York, Boston, even a few from Detroit or Chicago. Things are going to be a mess for a while," she concludes with a sigh.

You grimace. The thought of gangs from other cities coming in is bad enough, but now that she has mentioned it you cannot help but think of how few local heroes there are. Philadelphia's small cape population has been a boon to the city at large, but now it might come back to bite everyone in the rear if villain groups more familiar with tangling with a stronger opposition roll into town. "I know you guys don't normally talk to the PRT, but if you hear about new gangs moving in, think about calling them. Miss Militia and Chevalier have my number, and one of us should be able to go out and arrest them."

Laura gives you a sharp laugh at that, probably at the idea of capturing villains. You have seen Jotunn and Solaire in action, both against nonpowered MS-13 gang members and Cadejo. Jotunn does not seem to be one of those people who has much trust in the court system, though as a criminal himself his perception is by default skewed. "If things get bad, maybe we'll do that." A moment of hesitation precedes her pulling a notepad out of her bag and scribbling something on a sheet of paper. She hands it over with a faintly embarrassed blush. "Same for you. If you're booting gangs out of our city and you're getting swamped, give me a call.

"Anyway, take care. I'll see you around maybe."

* * *

"I suppose it really depends on how much you trust what Cailleach told you," Tim says, not looking up from his holographic screen. "If you think the warning about gangs from other cities muscling in on what used to be the Maras' turf is true, then yes, it would be worth keeping one ear to the ground. If you have doubts about it, wait until the Protectorate gives you an official warning or just call them up yourself and verify it. I'm surprised she tracked you down to tell you in the first place."

"We did just fight the Maras together. Maybe she felt it was cape courtesy or something." You omitted many of the details about the conversation you had at school when you asked Tim for advice on what to do with the information she passed along, but so far he does not have any ideas you did not already think of yourself. Changing the subject, you wave your hand at the briefcase above which the screen floats, lines of code scrolling up. "What is that, anyway?"

"A simple AI I've been working with off and on. Originally it was supposed to be a backup data assistant, something useful but not strictly necessary that would let me practice the kind of programming I would need to do to build Devices, but with Danny gone"—this he says with a wince—"I thought it might be better to adapt it to keep track of everybody when they go off on raids. With a little bit more work, I'd like to make it capable of actually giving advice and help coordinate the attacks. The briefcase holds the necessary hardware and power convertor. I'm just giving it a final test run before I take it over to Kurt. It won't completely replace Captain's power, but it should fill in some of the gaps."

That answer raises more questions as well as a mild amount of shame. When your dad was injured, you were justifiably more worried about his health and whether he would wake up than anything else, but all the same it is sometimes difficult for you to remember that you and Samantha are technically members of the Privateers, too. You have just always had your own things to do, to the point that the majority of your contact with the 'Privateers' is talking to Tim and a few things you've picked up from Kurt and Lacey. "How is everyone holding up? I know Dad was the leader of the team, so now that he's gone…"

Tim is quiet for an awkwardly long time, and you cannot decide whether it is because he wants to concentrate on his programming or because he would rather not answer. Eventually he dismisses the screen and turns to face you fully. "As you might imagine, things are a little… tense right now. Danny's power didn't just make it easier to coordinate with each other. It also reinforced the idea that no matter our personal disagreements, we were all acting towards the same goal in the end. Between the loss of that feeling of unity and the loss of actual leadership, you can probably guess how things are going. A few people are trying to keep everybody working together, but that has created its own issues because they all see themselves as the best person for the job."

"Why don't you take charge, then?"

"Because everyone, including me, knows I'm not the leader type. I'm happy to help, but I do not want the headaches that come with being in charge of everything." He loses his smile. "Not to mention, it sounds like a lot of them have taken the idea of being a group of normal humans who can defeat capes as a point of pride. Danny leading us was one thing – he's always been the boss – but I wouldn't be surprised if they don't want another cape on top calling the shots."

Well. That is just a bit of an unwelcome surprise. Maybe you should pop your head in and try to smooth things over. You aren't your dad, but you are his daughter, so that might give you a bit of sway over the men, although leaving them to do their own thing all this time won't help matters. You just have to pencil that into your schedule. It isn't like you plan to be busy.

Oh, who are you kidding? You never seem to have enough time to do everything you want, and that won't change any time soon. You know you need to contact the TSAB again and try to get a more thorough explanation of whether your experience was standard procedure from Admiral Tucson. And you still have to take Dragon and Tim to the Dragonslayers' base so they can tell you what parts of the extravagantly complicated computer system allowed the Dragonslayers to hack into her systems. Then there's the less dramatic but still so satisfying news you need to pass along to Vista that true to his word, Tim has built her a better prosthetic arm for her civilian life, one that can experience a fully human range of sensation. Oh, and you still haven't called Epoch back about when you're going to teach magic to him and the other Adepts.

About the only advantage of school being out for the summer, you decide, is that you can now sleep in without anyone yelling at you.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	101. Heatwave 9-2

**Heatwave 9.2**

 **Wednesday, June 1**

You look at the holographic screen and sigh. "There's no way to get out of this, is there?"

"You don't have to call him if you don't want to," Samantha reminds you. "You aren't obligated to help them."

"No, I kind of am. I told him that I would meet with him to discuss things. Might as well get it over and done with. Storm, call Epoch."

A phone rings only twice before being picked up. _"Good morning, Calamity Witch,"_ the gang leader says in the same pleasant voice he has used the other times you talked to him. _"How does this fine day treat you so far?"_

You roll your eyes. "Just great. Look, we agreed to meet and talk a little more about whether I'm going to teach you guys magic."

"… _I have to admit, I actually expected you to take longer to get back to me about this. Not that I'm complaining! Just the opposite, in fact."_

"I told you I'd call you back when all the mess going down in Philly was over, and things are basically back to normal. If I say I will do something, that means I'll do it. Now, do you have time to meet with me today or not?"

He laughs off your curt tone. _"Oh, I'm sure I can find time for you sometime this morning…"_ He trails off, and when he continues, it is in a slightly different voice. More hesitant, almost. _"Actually, would three this afternoon work? We already have a general meeting scheduled. You and I can talk beforehand, and if you're agreeable, I can introduce you to the whole group."_

You have GPS coordinates as well as a street address written down when he hangs up, and you look over at Samantha. "As weird as it feels to suggest trusting a villain who broke into our house, I somehow doubt this is all a setup," she tells you. "He was too…"

"Genuine. Yeah, I know. That's what makes this all so difficult. He sounds like he really, truly just wants to learn magic, but at the same time?" You let out a small laugh at the tangled mess your life is on the way to becoming. "Working with a bunch of villains to fight the Beasts, and actually liking Cailleach and Circus as long as I forget I'm going to have to arrest them in the future. Having Cailleach unmask to me because it's the ' _honorable'_ thing to do. And here is an entire group of villains who essentially are begging for table scraps. Sam, be honest with me. Where did I screw up with this whole hero thing?"

"No clue." She shrugs. "Maybe you didn't screw up, though. Have you thought about that? With all this possible influence over villains, there's a chance – a chance, mind you – that you could try pushing them back onto the straight and narrow."

"Yeah, let's keep that idea on the down low right now. With how pissy the guys were about the Truce the last couple of weeks, telling them that we're even considering the possibility of reforming villains is just going to add fuel to the fire." Fuel that you really don't want to throw around right now. You're still trying to psych yourself up to wade into the fight over who's going to lead the Privateers, and cluttering that issue with this entirely unrelated problem would just make that goal even more difficult.

One problem at a time, please and thank you.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Three o'clock rolls around with the orange glow of Spatial Translocation. Taking a quick glance around at the fake wood paneling, you turn your attention to the cowled man standing up behind the desk. "You haven't met, but this is Samantha, my teammate. Samantha, Epoch, leader of the Adepts."

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Samantha," Epoch says with an easy smile, pulling one hand out of his robe's pocket to offer a handshake that Samantha returns. He waves his hand at the chairs in front of his desk in offering. "Thank you both for coming. Calamity Witch, a couple of weeks ago you mentioned some qualms about parting with your teachings. How can I ease your concerns?"

Samantha leans forward. "I know the big question that's going through my head, and we've agreed that this is pretty much the heart of the problem considering we're both heroes. Why should we trust villains with magic?"

"A valid question from your perspective, but in truth one that has a rather anticlimactic answer. If I may pose a question to the both of you, do you know why our organization is classified as a gang and villains in the first place?"

You shake your head. Following your first meeting with their leader, you did some research into the Adepts, both on your and own and with Perfect Storm's assistance. For the life of you, though, you could not manage to track down solid information. A few scattered crimes here and there, but they were all crimes associated with cape fights in general, and the same ones that Perfect Storm had found were generally waived for heroes in the same situation. Some people would would consider that enough, but condemning them solely for that is too close to Purity's situation following her split with the Empire for your peace of mind.

"There are two main reasons. The first you already know: we have several members who were already villains prior to their joining our ranks. I personally don't care about their background, only their capabilities. If they they have magic and want to expand their abilities and advance our pitiful knowledge of magic, they are welcome just as are the rogues and heroes we count among our number."

"You have many heroes, then?" Samantha asks with interest.

"Three. Thirteenth Hour, formerly a member of the Protectorate under the name of Standstill, you already know about. Argus, an independent hero from the Midwest. And finally Maclibuin, my second-in-command and the cofounder of our group. He was first part of a hero team under the name Hammerstroke and then had a short solo career prior to our first meeting.

"That is one reason. The other is our activities. Our primary focus is magic, but we need money for supplies and general lifestyle. Due to our varied origins as well as the simple fact that we are a small group sitting under the eye of Legend himself, we eschew 'normal' gang activities. We hold no territory, we avoid becoming embroiled in enterprises such as money laundering or drug distribution, we do not steal. What we do, however, is contract out our talents. Mercenary work, to be succinct." He gives you a shrug. "Not the most glamorous or respected work, I will admit, but we have earned a good reputation. Some of the former rogues also continue the sale of their products or services as they did before joining, from which they contribute a portion of the profit to our general budget.

"Those are the reasons we are classified as villains. Personally, I could not care less what label the Protectorate chooses to apply to me, but as you sound like you are concerned with how your teachings might be abused, I hope this eases your conscience. We have no interest in seizing control of a portion of the city and ruining the lives of those within that territory. Our motivation is wholly academic."

"So what do you plan to do with this knowledge, assuming I teach you? Write it down in ledgers that are soon to accumulate dust? Lord them over other capes you fight over the course of your jobs?"

"I suppose that depends on what you teach us, doesn't it? If I may be blunt, Calamity Witch?" You give him a slow nod. "I will not refuse anything you are willing to teach us, but what I am most interested in is the method that makes all your spellcasting so effortless. Not only would it make our experimentation and research go faster, but if we can harness magic with the same ease you do, my ultimate goal is to expand. Send out our members to create their own chapters, find others with magic, and spread this knowledge far and wide. I would love a world in which magic was no longer dismissed as a fairy tale but instead acknowledged and respected."

Samantha cocks her head. "And what then? What happens when magic is known far and wide? What happens when it is so simple to split the world into those with magic and those without?"

"I… Well…" Epoch stammers a bit longer before figuring out what to say. "I actually have never thought about what happens after. I never envisioned it happening even in my lifetime and certainly not in the near enough future that definitive plans could be made."

« _What was that about, Sam?_ »

« _Curious about what he had planned for the future, if anything. Look at places like South America or Africa, where what used to be countries are now small territories ruled by parahuman warlords. Throw magic into the mix, and you can't say for sure you won't get societal collapse for similar reasons. Sure, there are a LOT more potential mages than there are parahumans, so that makes the consolidation of physical power more difficult, but a two-tiered society where mages have authority over nonmages purely because of their magic? Far from impossible. If that was his goal, I'd be against giving him any help._ »

"Understandable. That would be far in the future," you tell him even as you reply to Samantha, « _And with his actual answer?_ »

« _His story is consistent. All his focus is on the first step of finding and teaching potential mages. Nothing malicious about that. Maybe a little shortsighted, but not malicious._ »

Not a ringing endorsement, but it's also not a condemnation. Is Samantha merely reserving judgement or has Epoch passed her minimum standards? And even if he has, that is not the same as approving the Adepts as a whole. "I want to see the others before I make a decision," you tell him with a nod. "You aren't asking me to teach only you. If you want me to teach your entire group, I have the right to evaluate them all."

Apprehension momentarily flickers across his face. "I understand. All I ask is that you don't judge us all too quickly. There are a few of our members who, for all their good traits, are not exactly the most pleasant of people when you first meet them."

Epoch leads you down a hallway and through a door, revealing a balcony overlooking a wide bare floor where a group of capes are already gathered. The rest of the Adepts, you expect, all fourteen of them. Or perhaps thirteen, as a giant is already waiting for you on the balcony. "Is this the little lady you were talking about?" he asks, uncrossing his bulky arms.

"That she is. Calamity Witch, Samantha, this is Maclibuin. Mac, Calamity Witch and her partner Samantha."

You take in his great size and the scars crisscrossing his arms that are revealed by the muscle shirt he's wearing. This is one of the former heroes Epoch had mentioned? Maclibuin gives you a wide smile and reaches out with both hands to wrap around your own. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he says, clenching his own hands together in what you realize must be a practiced maneuver to shake people's hands without crushing them. He reaches for Samantha, and his grin broadens when she refuses the double-shake in exchange for squeezing his hand with her own Brute strength.

"Same to you. What's going on here?"

"Greetings, everyone!" Epoch calls out, gaining the rest of the Adepts' attention. "We have been called together to bear witness to a challenge fight, with our newest member, Thirteenth Hour, challenging Matchstick for his place in the fourth tier. But before we watch these two match wits and powers, I would like to introduce a guest." He gestures for you to step forward. "My friends, this is Calamity Witch. Like us, she is a magician, coming to meet more of our kind."

"This is that girl you told us 'bout, huh?" calls out one man in a thick furred coat. "The 'expert' you claim you found? Doesn't look like much to me."

"Gevaudan," you hear Maclibuin mutter to Samantha. "My fellow second-tier member. Unlike myself, he was solidly a villain before joining our ranks. Not the nicest individual."

"Then why put up with him?"

"Despite his attitude, he is still a magician. We are rare enough that we must sometimes overlook each other's many, many flaws. Otherwise I would have pounded him into paste by now."

While Maclibuin is spilling all the Adepts' juicy secrets, Epoch is doing his best to calm the sudden uproar. Taking a bit of pity on him, you kick your legs over the railing to sit upon it. "Yes, I am a mage. Yes, Epoch has approached me with the idea of teaching you my methods of spellcasting. I have yet to fully make up my mind on that matter, partly because I am a hero while you are officially a villain organization and partly because what I could teach you could be limited by how strong your Linker Cores are. I came here today mostly to meet a few of you firsthand to help me make that decision."

"And this 'Linker Core' is…?" Epoch asks, his eyebrows wrinkled in confusion.

This is a little sooner than you planned to get into the anatomy of magic, but you suppose you might as well explain it now than delay it and still have to go over it. It isn't like anyone can do anything with this information by itself. You think back to the way Perfect Storm described it to you and say, "A Linker Core is a magical organ of sorts. It serves to collect and concentrate mana from the environment, and then you use that mana to cast spells. There's a wide variation of strengths of Linker Cores, and how big your Core is plays an important role in how long you can cast magic before needing to rest and recharge."

"How interesting," Maclibuin says. Speaking louder, he asks, "And can you scan for this easily, or does it require something big and fragile like an MRI machine?"

Samantha raises her eyebrows, question obvious even without telepathy. Are you willing to go all the way and scan the Adepts?

You've come this far. Might as well.

"I can scan you right here and now if you want. I take it you're interested?"

Muttering from below indicates that even if Maclibuin and Epoch aren't, the rest certainly are. The two cofounders share a glance before Epoch gives you a pleased smile. "I know I am interested in seeing just where I stack up."

"Me too," agrees Maclibuin.

Gevaudan climbs the stairs while you move Epoch and Perfect Storm into position. « _Storm, scan away._ »

Lines of blue light sweep over Epoch's torso, and the hologram that appears is quickly stripped of its various layers of skin and muscle and organs until all that is left is a spot that glitters like a jewel. _"Scan complete,"_ your Device announces aloud, catching everyone off guard. _"Linker Core detected. Estimated rank: A. Nonstandard mana structure detected. Consistent with known Rare Skill: Regenerator."_

"Regenerator?"/"Rare Skill?" you and Epoch ask at the same time.

" _Rare Skill: engineered gene-line granting atypical magical qualities. Regenerator gene-line developed by primordial Al-Hazardan civilization. Enhanced healing factor, wide variability in potency. Effect may not be noticeable without active enhancement."_

The cape blinks slowly at that revelation, and you yourself are a little worried about what is going to follow. Of all the ways to introduce the concept of alien worlds, this was _not_ the best. "That," he finally says, "has some disturbing implications, but now's not the time to talk about ancient civilizations nobody but your staff knows about." His words make it clear that he would _really_ like to talk about it later, though. "Mac, you're up."

The same process happens again. _"Scan complete. Linker Core detected. Estimated rank: C."_

"I bet C is less than A?" he asks with a short laugh, not worried in the least that his Linker Core is weaker than his boss's.

After both of their leaders have been scanned with no immediate ill effects, any doubts the Adepts might have held have evaporated. Gevaudan steps up with a swagger. "Maybe you're not so bad, girl," he tells you when stops in front of you. "Gives us a better way to rank ourselves, wouldn't you say, Epoch?"

Probably hoping to be ranked higher than Maclibuin, his nominal equal, or his superior. With that sort of attitude, you wish he wouldn't actually have a Linker Core, just to slap him down.

" _Scan complete. No Linker Core detected."_

The three capes slowly turn to stare at you. You in turn point at the screen which, unlike the previous times, shows no sparkling dot, though inwardly you wonder if you shouldn't start wishing for random things more often. "I don't about you, but I can't see one."

"That's not possible," Epoch says with a sharp shake of his head. "We all have magic. I've felt it myself."

"I don't know what you were sensing. All I can tell you is what my scan shows, and I can't detect anything in him. No Linker Core means no way to gather mana, and that means you can't cast spells. Not by any of the rules of magic I know about."

"Maybe it's a, what are those called?" Maclibuin cuts in. "A false negative. Scan the rest. When she finds magic in everyone else, she can just rescan you."

The mood in the room rapidly plummets after that, and you can't blame then when you have finished the scan for the last member of the Adepts. Negative. Negative. Negative, negative, negative! At the end, a grand total of four people have Linker Cores; in addition to Epoch and Maclibuin, it is a man calling himself Lilliput and the ex-hero Legend told you about, Thirteenth Hour. All the rest? Not a drop of magic in a single one of them.

"How accurate is that scan of yours?" demands Felix Swoop with a sneer.

Samantha leaps down from the balcony, silvery sheen around her hands a direct challenge to the birds rustling above you. It is only by telling yourself that it will be seen as weakness and that your Barrier Jacket will protect you that you avoid looking up. "Very."

"You said that we need these cores to cast magic according to the rules of magic you know, right?" asks Maclibuin. "It stands to reason that if there are rules you don't know, you might be missing something. Watch us perform a ritual. We will show you that we are all magicians."

You give him a look, and then you nod. Despite the proof that they have magic themselves, he and Epoch both look worried, and you can't blame them. The Adepts are a volatile combination of personalities and personal philosophies, heroes and villains and rogues held together solely by their shared belief in magic. You have just shredded that unity.

"Paddock, you told me yesterday you need your charm recharged. Bring it here."

One cape hands a rope belt to the Brute, and the group splits apart. Five others join Maclibuin and Paddock, and they spread out in a circle with the belt in the middle. Hands clasped within each other's, Maclibuin hums a steady, haunting note, and it is soon picked up by the rest of the group. A faint green circle begins to glow beneath their feet. An aura of that exact color coalesces around Maclibuin, and sparks flake off that aura to drift into the rope. A couple of minutes pass before the aura is depleted, and he staggers a bit before regaining his balance. "There," he says to you. "Satisfied?"

« _Storm, do you have an explanation? Something about that looked… strange. Why was all the magic the same color?_ »

" _Impressive,"_ your Intelligent Device announces. _"Ritual for enhancement derived from first principles. Primitive method of spellcasting. Mage supplies mana, mental processing requirements divided among mages and nonmages both. Historically succeeded by computational spellcasting due to greater ease of use and self-sufficiency."_

"Maclibuin, do you have to be involved in every ritual? And is it always that same color?" asks Samantha. When he nods, she continues, "Mages all have a natural color to their magics. Mine and Calamity Witch's is orange. If your ritual is always green, and you're always involved, it makes sense. The rituals work because you're a mage, and you're providing all the power while the others are just helping to focus it. You could do that working alongside anyone."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Epoch moves in front of Gevaudan, his hands up in a pacifying gesture, but the villain is having none of it. "All this time, you've told us we had special powers, that staying here was gonna give us something useful and never seen before. Three years, Epoch. _Three years_ I stuck around following your dumbass rules and restrictions, and for _what_?!"

"We had no way to know that was the case—"

"Well, now we do. You've got nothing to offer me, and I'm done wasting my time." He glares at both Epoch and Maclibuin. "I'm gone. If I see either of you again? You're fucking dead." He turns then to you. "Same to you, bitch. Stay outta my way."

Gevaudan storms out of the room, and the rest of the Adepts shuffle around awkwardly. A couple more drift out one by one until Epoch finally sighs. "Everyone head back to your bases. This meeting is adjourned."

They all file out, though you can't help but notice the dark expression Lilliput wears when his gaze passes over Thirteenth Hour, who stays behind along with Maclibuin. "Any idea what that's about?" you ask the gothed-up girl.

"He's gotta be pissed," she says with a faint smile. "The Adepts are arranged in tiers. You start at the bottom, in the fifth tier, and to get to a higher tier you have to challenge and defeat someone from that tier. If you win, you get their spot and they get yours. I'm fifth-tier and he's third, but your scan said that he had the weakest level of magical power where I, a newbie in the group and his supposed inferior, is a rank higher. Serves him right. He's a douche."

Epoch sighs. "Thirteenth Hour, don't call… Oh, never mind. What's even the point?"

"Are you okay?" you ask, even though you know it's a dumb question. Of course he isn't okay. Entirely by accident you just gutted his group and the very reason for their existence. No one said it, but you have your doubts that anyone will stay for much longer. "What are you going to do now?"

"…I don't know."

"Um…" You turn to look at Thirteenth Hour, who is now scratching one arm and looking at the ground. "I need to talk to Argus first, but… I'm probably going to try to rejoin the Protectorate. Nothing against you, but with all this…"

Maclibuin nods. "We understand. Just be careful. I don't know if they will take you back after joining us, and I don't want you walking into your own arrest."

"Last I talked to Legend, they hadn't labeled you a villain." Thirteenth Hour and Maclibuin turn to you. "Apparently there was a question of whether or not you had been Mastered or left of your own free will, not to mention you hadn't actually broken any laws."

"That's good to know. Thank you." She looks away from you before her voice rings in your head, « _CALAMITY WITCH, CAN YOU HEAR ME?_ »

You barely withhold a wince, and Samantha whines at the volume. Girl's got a set of pipes on her telepathically, that's for sure. « _Ow! Yeah, I can hear you just fine. Stop yelling._ »

« _SORRY! Sorry. I was, uh, I was wondering if maybe you could get in touch with me later, by PHO or something? I still have my old Protectorate account, name's Standstill. The reason I joined the Adepts in the first place was because I thought they could teach me how to use my power more freely, and then because it felt like I was making progress with other magic. Since you actually know what you're doing…_ »

You give her a noncommittal answer while Maclibuin gives Epoch a flick on the chest for something the latter said. That flick rocks the villain back on his heels and almost sends him to the ground. "None of that, E. You're stuck with me. All this means is that we need to change our methods and keep moving forwards."

Deciding you've done enough damage for the day, you clear your throat. "I think Samantha and I are just going to go. Nice to meet you, Maclibuin, Standstill. Epoch, if you need us… I guess you have our number?"

Not a minute later, you have teleported back home. Samantha shares with you a sheepish smile. "That wasn't awkward at all, was it?"

* * *

 **Yes, that happened. The players know that I generally roll dice to determine whether a character has Linker Cores, which adds a nice degree of randomness to everything, but all four of the mage character here were guaranteed, as were the rest of the Adepts' lack of magic. The Rare Skill was a happy surprise, and for those of you who know Nanoha, yes it is one of my own invention. I have twelve of them total for the players to find (assuming they get off their butts and start scanning more people for magic!).**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	102. Heatwave 9-3

**Heatwave 9.3**

 **Thursday, June 2**

"…That's when we took off. It was way too awkward to stick around."

"I can imagine," says Shipwright, setting down his welder for a moment to wipe the sweat off his forehead. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I have no idea." You drop into a nearby chair and dismiss Perfect Storm's staff back into a gem around your neck, though you keep your Barrier Jacket up for appearance more than any defensive reason. You have nothing to fear in Tim's lab. "Just when I thought I had a handle on what to do about the Adepts, I accidentally upend the table. Most of them are going to run out like rats off a sinking ship. Lilliput is in the wind, and as a definite villain – he used to be a member of a Floridian gang, at least according to Storm – I say good riddance to bad rubbish. Thirteenth Hour, or more appropriately Standstill, said she would rejoin the Protectorate. Epoch and Maclibuin…

"They're the sticking point, I guess. They both have magic, and Epoch's is pretty strong. He sounded like he was a villain because it was easier to fit into his ambitions than being a hero would have been, and Maclibuin was a hero before he helped Epoch found the group. Neither sound like they're that bad of people."

Tim again stops in his work, and he turns his head to look at you through his goggles. "You sound almost like you plan to recruit them."

"I haven't decided one way or another. What do you think?" You spin to face him fully. "You're a friend, you're a teammate, and you're a fellow mage. What would you say to recruiting a pair of maybe-former villains?"

"Personally? I haven't met them, so I can't say one way or another. I'll trust your judgment on this. You're almost sixteen, you're a powerful cape all on your own, and you're the one who knows these powers best. If you think they deserve magic, go for it." You turn away to hide your smile. Compliments have been becoming more familiar ever since you left Winslow, but trust like this? It still warms your heart. "The only warnings I feel the need to give are one, let me know if you don't want to give them templates so I can talk to them about designing their Devices, and two, don't recruit them as members of the Privateers."

You whip your head back towards him. "What? Why?"

"Adding a couple of capes to the mix? Now's not a good time for that. Terrible one, in fact. I underestimated how bad this power struggle is going to be. I think, anyway," he says with a slight shrug. "I can't say for sure, but my gut says things are heading south with a quickness." Anticipating your request for clarification, he raises the half-completed project in front of him. "Back when Danny was in charge, everyone was good with sticking with nonlethal measures. Even though we had guns, nobody wanted to use them. Martinez texted me earlier today, said some of the guys wanted to know if I could replicate the laser rifle we bought from Coil back in Brockton Bay."

"Wasn't our big problem with that gun that it didn't have much of a nonlethal setting?"

"Yup. I'm working on this one mostly to see if I can, but if they start asking for multiple copies? I'm going to have to put my foot down until I get a good answer as to why. Not to mention," he says with a half-amused huff, "If they really want lasers, I could probably make my own quicker, easier, and better. I haven't done much reading about them because there wasn't any need, but there are records floating in Sextant's databanks showing all sorts of useful things that can be done with hardlight generators."

Uh-huh. And those are…?

He rolls his eyes at your look of confusion. "Energy projections. Common sci-fi stuff. Think an armguard on one arm that projects one of your shields and in your other hand a lightsaber."

 _Oh_. "Don't tell Samantha about the last one," you joke after a moment's thought. "She'd pout at you until you gave her one."

You share a laugh at the image of her begging for a toy like a child for a moment before Perfect Storm kills the mood. _"Mistress, Protectorate communication. Combat downtown. Sere deployed. Unclear opponents, not local origin."_

You sigh. "I hoped she was mistaken. Looks like that isn't the case."

"What's going on?"

"Remember how I told you Cailleach had warned me there might be villains from other cities coming here now that MS-13 was out of commission?" He nods, and you continue, "I told Storm to keep an ear out in case the PRT or Protectorate or even the regular cops reported any sightings of foreign villains. That seemed like the shortest and simplest way to find out if she was right. There were a few alerts here and there the last couple of days, but no definitive response. Now there is."

"What are you going to do?"

That is the million-dollar question, isn't it? And yet, you know there is only one option. "I don't know a lot about Sere. The one time he and I were part of the same fight, he didn't have much impact. I think Samantha and I had better swing by just to make sure everything's going okay, maybe introduce ourselves once he's done. We'd just have to pretend that we ran across the fight on a random patrol," you add with a faint grimace. "Storm, send Sam the location and tell her to meet us there. We've got a party to crash."

Your Guardian Beast is already floating in the air when you arrive at the supposed location of the fight, probably because it turned out that the intersection in question was at the other end of the city from Tim's lab. "Find anything?" you ask.

"Nope, nothing. I checked this intersection and a few streets in the other directions, and nothing, at least not obvious at high speed." A gush of fire flies into the sky maybe ten or fifteen blocks away. "But my intuition says that might be important."

"Oh, you think?"

The pair of you take off for the obvious fight, and peering down you have to whistle. It's a good thing you showed up, because Sere is horribly outnumbered.

Contrary to your previous impression of him, he does carry weapons, specifically a pair of electrified batons, and he is intent on using them to knock somebody's head in. Too bad his opponents are making that difficult. One of them throws a punch, his shiny purple fist stretching the twenty feet between them to slam into Sere's chin. The fist then grabs the collar of his shirt and whips him around into the grasp of a vaguely humanoid clump of rocks. He manages to keep one arm out of the pin and pulls a silvery device out of his costume that he tosses into the air. It explodes into a cloud of containment foam, and when the rock man lets him go to try pulling the foam off his face, Sere drops to the ground. A little of the rapidly expanding foam landed on his other hand, but a glare from the hero turns out to be literally withering as the foam deflates and disintegrates. He grabs his fallen baton but then has to jump out of the way of a fireball that swirls around and around the rock man. Not even the normally fire-resistant containment foam can withstand the heat you can feel all the way from your perch, and the rock man flicks the molten foam off himself.

Sere is back on his feet by now, but while all this was going on, the only non-Breaker cape on this team was creating a hemispherical forcefield around herself and then shrinking into to fit into her hand. She pitches the softball-sized sphere of static at Sere, and when it hits the ground it expands into its full size and flings him into the air.

"Did they send him alone because they underestimated the threat, or because he is normally good enough to handle four capes on his own?" Samantha can't help but wonder.

"Either way, I think he'll appreciate the help." You size up the opponents again and ponder for a moment before making a decision. "Alright, Sam, here's what we're going to do…"

* * *

 **No, that totally isn't the evil Fantastic Four down there, why would you think that?**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	103. Heatwave 9-4

**Heatwave 9.4**

"…I'm going to focus on the girl with the forcefields. She has the best defensive power of the four I can see, so taking her down is the first priority. The rest will then be softer targets."

"Alright," Samantha says after considering it for a minute. "Where do you want me?"

"Honestly? For the moment I want you to hang back in reserve." You give her a sharp grin. "Let's be hospitable to our guests. Once their teammate's down, I'll give them a chance to surrender. One chance. If they don't, hit 'em hard."

While Samantha drops down to the rooftops in her war form, you rise higher in the sky. If you want the villains to surrender, you need to shock and awe them from the start. Should you throw up Recursion Field first, then? You shake your head while firing four cartridges. Actually, if you make this visible, it might actually work better. Not for this group, but as a reminder to every other villain who decides to invade that there's a flying Blaster 8 who calls this city home and won't tolerate their presence.

The sudden influx of mana causes a miniature star to form at the head of your staff in record time.

In the dark of the night, the wash of sunlight does not go unnoticed. Forcefield girl barely has time to throw up a shield before the tight beam of red and orange plasma smashes into her. A second passes where you actually worry that her shield will prove stronger than Solar Wrath, but your concern is unwarranted in the end. The forcefield collapses, and impossibly nonlethal nuclear fire washes over that side of the street and sets the asphalt to boiling.

You hastily hide a wince. Between the liquified street and the scorched buildings, maybe Recursion Field would have been a good idea. You're committed now, though, and you need to see the rest of the plan through. Will the destruction get the villains to stop? "That's enough!" you call out. "The three of you, get on the ground—"

The next thing you know, a human-sized fireball is in your face.

For all that you are immune to fire and radiation thanks to your Barrier Jacket, wrestling with this fire-based Breaker is still an issue, and that's entirely due to the fact that you have to wrestle with him. A quick Flare Shooter proves that, just as you would have expected, he is likewise immune to heat attacks, and you don't want to chance killing him with radiation. Worse, while he is mostly intangible, or at least to the point that you can't just headbutt him and finish it, he is just solid enough to latch onto you. His punches have no effect, but when he grabs at Perfect Storm? No, no, no.

"Frost Beam."

The blast of ice magic leaves you drained, but not so much that you cannot grab his now-human wrist and fling him at nearby roof. You don't know if it was Frost Beam itself or the sudden switch from fire to human that knocked him out; either way, that's two of four down for the count. A quick look at the street reveals that Samantha is tangling with the living clump of rocks, a silver sheen coating her bestial paws, while Sere is facing off against the knock-off Stretch Armstrong and smacking his hands whenever they get close. You thought rubber was insulated against electricity, but from the way the hands retract as soon as Sere's shock batons get close, either your knowledge of physics is wrong or rubber man's Breaker state doesn't share all the material's properties.

Whom to help? On the one hand, Samantha has the tougher opponent, but she is likely the stronger of the two heroes from a physical perspective. On the other, Sere is locked in a stalemate with rubber boy, either because he doesn't want to use his powers or because he can't for some reason. Rubber man's hand shoots low and wraps around Sere's ankle, yanking it out from under him and sending him to the ground.

That makes your decision for you, doesn't it?

A brace of Flare Shooters slam into the arm, causing its owner to release Sere with a yelp of pain. You land next to the hero while he climbs to his feet. "Looked like you could use some help." He gives you an appreciative nod, and you can't help but say, "I would have thought rubber would be vulnerable to dehydration."

"My power doesn't work on Breakers. Weird Manton Effect."

While you ponder that, rubber man rubs his arm and glances at you and Samantha. Evaluating his chances now that his group is outnumbered three to two? A dog-like grunt is followed shortly by a deeper shout of pain, and you give him a grim smile. It sounds like very soon it will be three on one. "Not so fun when the shoe's on the other foot, is it?"

"No, it isn't," the villain replies. Reaching down to his belt, he taps the decorative buckle. It starts blinking with blue light, as does the belt on forcefield girl. Then he turns grey. Literally grey, and your Flare Shooter fizzles out when it hits him. Electricity arcs from him to forcefield girl, and to the nearby streetlight, and to a car, and generally all over. Space twists until he and presumably the rest of his teammates are centered in spheres of emptiness. He mouths something at you, but his teleportation sequence has progressed too far for you to make it out. The excess lightning curls inwards, and then the spheres collapse into themselves.

The villains are gone.

"Well, that was a decent workout, I guess," Samantha says as she walks over once again in human form. You eye how she is rubbing the right side of her chest, and she shrugs only to immediately grimace. "Guy hits like truck. Caught me square on the teat."

You give her a sympathetic wince before turning to ask the resident villain expert, "Who were they?"

"Villain team from Chicago, call themselves the Rampage. From what I understand, their primary M.O. is hard target thievery. Banks, armored cars, anything that has a heavy guard presence or defenses." He watches you as he talks. "You don't look surprised that a gang from Chicago is here."

"I heard through the grapevine that there might be some gangs from other cities coming in now that the Maras are gone."

"You heard right. There were a few incursions before this, but by the time we could confirm them, they were already dealt with." He scowls. "We can't say for sure since no one's taking the credit, but our best guess is that the local villains aren't taking kindly to newcomers trying to muscle in on their turf. What's strange is that we thought they would mostly be New York gangs, but it's the Chicagoans that are giving us the most trouble."

Chicago. Didn't Miss Militia say something about Chicago shortly before you and she moved to Philadelphia? Something about how the big gangs there were run by unpowered people while capes were the enforcers if you remember right. The Rampage are a group of thieves, so they probably aren't members of any one particular gang. Why would they be trying to move into Philly? Freedom from recruitment, or something else?

"And you were sent by yourself to fight all four of these villains because?" Samantha asks while you ponder all that.

"Chevalier and Miss Militia were both called in for a meeting about Bouncer's death. Since he was a ward of the state, there's more red tape they have to go through to prove that his initial disappearance wasn't the Protectorate's fault and that he was irrecoverable when he was found in Typhon's lair. That left just me."

"You didn't ask any of the Wards to come along? Even in a supportive role?"

The expression he gives her is insultingly dismissive. "Vista offered, but no. They're children. They shouldn't be fighting in the first place, and it would make it harder for me because I have to keep them out of danger as well as fight the villains myself. They'd just be a liability."

There are several things you could say to that considering the fight you just watched, but you keep your mouth shut. He was against opponents who were almost totally immune to his power, after all. Instead, you let him retract his batons and walk over to a desert-painted jeep that is parked a block away.

"He's a pleasant individual, isn't he?" your Guardian Beast remarks in a sarcastic voice.

"No, but he got his ass handed to him and had to be saved by a teenager and a raccoon. That's got to sting his pride."

 **Poor Sere. Just like in canon, he can't seem to get a good showing around here. Though that could be due to the players kill-stealing the only opponent his powers work against.**


	104. Heatwave 9-5

**Heatwave 9.5**

 **Saturday, June 4**

You take a breath. Hold it. Let it out. "I can do this. I can do this. Oh, I can't do this, Sam!"

"Yes, you can." Your favorite raccoon-woman grabs your shoulders and turns you around to face the door again. "You're Danny's daughter, and you are just as invested in cleaning up the streets as they are. They'll listen to you."

"I don't think it's that easy. In their minds, I'm still a cape. I told you what Tim said. If it isn't Dad, they don't want a cape leading them."

Her hands tighten. "If they don't want to listen, them _make them_. You withstood Alexandria's interrogations. You destroyed Typhon. You smacked down the Dragonslayers. You faced the _Simurgh_ without flinching. You have nothing to fear from the people who are your own allies."

She is right, you tell yourself in hopes that thinking it loudly enough will let you believe it. You saved their butts on their very first foray into heroing, and you've been just a phone call away for all the rest. Tim trusts you enough to decide whether or not to bring villains into the fold, Lacey trusts you enough to lie to her own husband for you. Who's to say the rest don't feel the same way?

Another deep breath, and you dismiss your staff and Barrier Jacket. Appearing just like them may help keep tempers down, but your costume is just that. A costume. Taylor Hebert, Calamity Witch; you're one and the same, and skirts and jackets and witch's hat don't change that. And just like your alter ego, you'll bring fire and fury if they dismiss you.

The doors to the office building the team has claimed as their headquarters opens before you, and you make your way to the cleared central room where everyone gathers for the big group meetings. The Privateers and dedicated auxiliary members – i.e., the wives in the know, Lacey included – are already assembled, but your arrival goes unnoticed due to the debate raging fiercely in the middle of the room.

"You understand what you're calling for, don't you?" asks Alexander, he and his opponent already on their feet. His deep voice booms throughout the room. "Break out the suits, break out the guns, and let God sort them out? We can't claim to be on the side of angels when all we leave behind is slaughter."

"And you're saying, what? We let these gangbanger bastards keep stomping people down? Put their boots on our necks and beg 'em not to step too hard? Fuck that!" Ramirez shouts, slicing his hand through the air. "You lived in Brockton Bay same as me. Same as all of us! You saw how things went. The cops can't stop the villains, and the 'heroes' _won't_ stop the villains, and what happened then? They just kept doing whatever they want. If we want to stop them at all, we need to hit them hard and hit them now!"

"Yeah, because _that_ worked out so well last time." Your voice rings out and cuts into the argument. "Think back to the gang war we just had to deal with. The gang war _you helped start_. Do you really want to kick that off again?" Your eyes flick up to meet Tim's. « _Tim, gimme a summary. Ten words or less._ »

« _Break the villains whatever it takes, even by killing them._ »

« _Ten words exactly,_ » praises Samantha. « _Not bad_.»

"We didn't start it," Ramirez shoots back with an angry flush. "The Maras did. Us hitting Winter Hill wasn't even a drop in the bucket compared to what they did."

"But that was the plan, wasn't it? That's what you told me and Sam and Kurt. Piss Winter Hill off, send them at the Maras, and then let them both fight it out and screw everybody stuck in the middle." You scoff in disgust. "Great plan. Definitely something to brag to the grandkids about."

"It worked, though, didn't it? The Maras are gone. That leaves just Winter Hill and Fairyland and then the random independents to deal with."

"Sure, sure." You nod as though in total agreement, and you can see from the various expressions in front of you that they know it's a set up. "Winter Hill, Fairyland, the independents. Oh, and all the villains from the rest of the Northeast who have started pouring in to take the Maras' place. Boston, New York, Chicago. There's a big empty spot in the city's underworld, and they all want it for themselves."

Kurt stands, and for a moment you think he intends to side with you on this matter. "While the new villains coming in are a problem, they aren't established like the others are. They don't have lairs set up, connections and agents hidden among the populace. They'll be easier to root up and kick out."

A nasty, terrible thought runs through your head, and you weigh the choice to say it in your head for a long moment. "You and what army?" you finally ask. A ripple of something passes through the group, and you sweep your arm to include everyone. "There are only twenty of us. Philadelphia is a city of one and a half million people. How do you possibly expect to keep every villain who sets their sights on this city from sneaking in and setting up shop?"

"At least _we're_ trying to stop the villains, not acting all buddy-buddy with them."

Slowly turning, you meet Ramirez's glare with your own. "What?"

"You heard me. You wanna get mad at us for what we do when we try to stop the villains? Then you better not be working alongside them. It wasn't you who stopped the Maras. It wasn't the Protectorate. Not alone, anyway. You had to get help from the criminals you say you're trying to stop."

What is he trying to say? That because you accepted the offer of villains to help _stop_ a murderous gang, all your actions before and after are suspect? "We fixed the mess _you_ helped cause, and _I'm_ the one you're trying to blame?" Not to mention the fact that they also helped defeat Typhon and his Beasts, but you stop yourself before you can add that to the fire.

After all, you were not that deep in the storm sewers to kill Typhon. You were there to save Mishmash and Solaire, a hero and a villain.

"We screwed up, yeah. I'm not gonna argue that." Any shame on Ramirez's face fades as he continues, "But even though we made a mistake, at least we didn't side with villains and criminals. You did, the Protectorate did, and when you did that, you showed everyone that you're okay with what they do as long as they play by the rules of this game you capes play with other people's lives. If you're part of the problem, you can't be part of the solution."

"Do you really want to talk about playing with people's lives after the shit you pulled?"

"I already said we messed up. We're not going to make that mistake again. But we also aren't going to throw away our morals whenever it's convenient to do so," he says, jutting out his jaw in defiance.

" _Danny would be ashamed."_

You don't know who said that, and while you immediately turn your eyes to the left, the direction the voice came from, it is too late. Everyone else heard it too, and now the room has erupted into a vicious argument. Every Privateer has their own opinion and wants it to be heard right now. The volume starts rising, slowly but surely, and any chance of restoring peace is gone unless you want to start blowing up Flare Shooters overhead.

« _What I said about making them listen?_ » Samantha projects to you. « _I take it back. Tempers are running way too hot for that to work, thanks to Ramirez stirring everyone up. No one's going to listen to anybody else until they've all had a chance to cool down. We're leaving. Now. Before someone else says something that makes you or me want to break them in half._ »

* * *

 **Eeeks, that's not so grand. Because the players chose not to interaction with the Privateers much, any influence Taylor has over them was minimal to nonexistent. Which really sucks considering they could have been used for so much more.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	105. Heatwave 9-6

**Heatwave 9.6**

 **Monday, June 6**

"Miss Hebert? Miss Bushman?"

You look up from your quiet conversation with Samantha to find a woman in a nice blouse and slacks walking up to you. She gives you a small smile. "Good morning. I'm Nancy Kess, the nurse practitioner here at Three Oaks. How are you doing?"

"We're fine," Samantha says, rising to her feet and rearranging the long skirt she wears to hide her tail. Between that and the bandana wrapped around her head to hide her raccoon ears, no one would be able to guess that she is anything but a normal woman. "How is Danny?"

Kess's smile fades, and she turns with her arm spread toward you. "Let's take a walk."

"Physically, Danny is doing extremely well," she says once the three of you have left the front desk and entered the small lawn that sits in the middle of the fenced-in facility. "His time in the ICU following his car accident did not leave him as weak as I normally would have expected. Even with the difficulties we have had convincing him to work with the therapists, he is recovering quickly."

"So he can come home soon?"

Samantha puts her hand on your shoulder, and her voice is firm, almost hard, when she says, "You said that's how he's doing _physically_. What else is going on?"

The nurse sighs. "Yes, that is his physical recovery. Mentally is a very different story. Have you ever heard of anterograde amnesia?" You shake your head. "It is the inability of the mind to hold onto information and form new memories. This disorder covers a wide spectrum of severity. In some people it is very mild and easily worked around. In others, it can be almost totally debilitating.

"You are aware that when he regained consciousness, he thought it was 2005, yes?"

"I was there the first day he woke up," you say in a worried voice. No, not worried; terrified. "He… He didn't recognize me. He thought I was still nine years old."

The sympathetic expression on Kess's face all but confirms your worst fears. "Unfortunately, Danny's amnesia is one of the most severe cases I have ever taken care of personally. He has some difficulties with his memories during the day, but it is at night that the worst effect becomes apparent. Every morning he wakes up convinced that it is June first of 2005. We have been working on different strategies to convince him of the truth of his situation, and we have had some…"

Her voice devolves into a meaningless drone. You know what she's doing her best not to say. Your dad is stuck in 2005, and they can't get him out of it. He'll never get better, no matter how much optimism the nurse is peddling. He'll never recognize you.

Danny Hebert may still live, but your dad might as well be gone forever.

Samantha gives you a hug and pushes you back towards the front office, and you take the escape she offers. Your Guardian Beast will check on him and make sure he's healthy and that his power is either still dormant or at least not causing problems. She will take that burden from your shoulders, and you project a burst of gratitude and relief towards her.

You don't think you can handle seeing him again. Not like this.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Perfect Storm answers the video stream as soon as the link hits your inbox, and the holographic screen appears next to you. "Hey, Dragon."

" _Hello, Taylor,"_ the heroine says slowly, no doubt a little confused about how flagrantly you are disregarding the normal hero rules and wearing casual clothes. It isn't like she doesn't already know what you look like, though, and considering the conversation you're about to have, wearing your Barrier Jacket would probably be counterproductive. _"I take it you are contacting the TSAB again?"_

"Yeah, I have some things I want to talk about." You look over at her screen. "Remember the team the admiral said he was sending here? I ran into them a couple of weeks back."

" _Oh? Was it a productive meeting?"_

"Considering they tried to kill me? I'm going to say no."

Dragon's avatar freezes for a moment before displaying a slow blink. _"Excuse me?"_

A nod of your head is all the answer you give for a moment. "But, and this is the weird part, once I woke up from the attack they apologized to me, made sure Samantha and I were healed, and let us go. It was… odd." Yes, that was certainly one word for it. Dragon is scowling now, and you tell her, "They gave me an explanation for why they did what they did, and at the time it made sense, but I want some confirmation. I'd also appreciate it if you would let me know your own opinion of the matter."

That was only part of the reason you called her, but she does not need to know the other half. After getting the terrible news about your dad, you almost called off making this call in the first place, but this has been burning in the back of your mind for a while now, and you want it to be over and done with. You can't be sure how well you'll be able to spot any doublespeak or games with your current mindset, though, so in addition to supplying moral support Dragon can keep you from missing anything underhanded.

You hope she won't need to do that. With all the mess regarding the villains being half-decent people and the Privateers going off the deep end, it would be nice to have someone who just said what they meant and stood by it.

A flip of the switch sends power to the radio, and the familiar screen pops into existence. _"TSAB Enforcer Command,"_ a blonde girl chirps.

A blink, and you push away the questions about why a girl who looks like she's at most thirteen is answering the phone. Bring your daughter to work day, maybe? "This is Taylor of Earth Bet. I need to speak with Admiral Tucson."

She nods and taps something on her desk. _"The admiral mentioned before that you were to be patched through to him if you called. It looks like he was scheduled to finish a conference call about ten minutes ago, so he should be free by now. Give me a moment."_

Her image is replaced by a slowly twisting logo for several seconds before the live feed returns. This time it is a familiar middle-aged man looking back at you. _"Miss Taylor. Miss Dragon. Good morning to both of you."_

It is already the early afternoon here in Philly, but expecting Enforcer Command to operate on local time is more that a little silly. You should be glad their clocks aren't set to China time, or you never would have been able to reach somebody the first time you called. "Hello to you too, Admiral."

You are unsure how to open the conversation about the Enforcers and their actions against you, but Tucson certainly isn't. Before you can say anything else at all, he is already talking. _"I heard about what happened from Commander Erga and Lieutenant Commander Lanster. Miss Taylor, you have my personal apologies, as well as the regret of the Enforcers as an organization. That never should have happened, and I'm sorry that it did."_

" _Why did it happen, then?"_ Dragon demands, and your eyes turn in her direction before you force them back to Tucson's face. You didn't think she would be _happy_ about the Enforcers' actions, but you were not expecting the cold anger you can hear in her voice. _"To say that such behavior concerns me is a terrible understatement."_

" _I understand that quite well, Miss Dragon. I would be happy to explain the circumstances that led to this mistake, but the full explanation requires some context."_

Dragon thinks over the matter for a moment before giving him a nod, and when he switches his gaze back to you you signal your acceptance as well.

" _What you need to understand is that the Enforcers, while a peacekeeping organization, were born as a result of much darker eras. A little over a thousand years ago marks the end of the Warring Ages, a massive war between interdimensional empires that lasted for at least one millennium on its own and more likely multiple."_ He flicks his eyes meaningfully to your chest where Perfect Storm hangs. _"I expect your Device can give you more information about that time period than I can if you are curious. After that, there were a few generations of relative peace under the unified Belkan Empire, but even that was torn apart by bloody civil war. It took centuries for the Empire to collapse completely, and after that it was another twenty years before enough worlds could stabilize their own governments enough to attempt more than token communications with their neighbors. Diplomacy was chosen as the new means by which to create unity, and the TSAB was formed to bring the Dimensional Sea together in a peaceful cooperative, one where each world has both its own liberty and a stake in the wider society._

" _Unfortunately, products of the millennia of war are still out there, floating innocently in space. Ancient superweapons, machines designed for the explicit purpose of wiping out life wherever they were activated. We call these magical artifacts 'Lost Logia', and it was the first duty of the Enforcers to find and suppress these weapons before they could be accidentally or intentionally reactivated._

" _Just over seven months ago, archeologists exploring a desolate region of the Sea called the Barren Sector reported finding an elaborate and ancient artifact. They initially contacted the TSAB to come and retrieve it, but…"_ Tucson shakes his head. _"We can't say for sure what happened next. Maybe the artifact was set to reactivate when it was found. Maybe the scientists connected it to a power source to better study it and turned it on. We don't know. A small escort ship made it to the planet, and then contact was lost. A second, larger ship was sent out under the assumption that there had been a natural disaster, or perhaps that pirates had located the ships and attacked. It too went dark._

" _It was only when the frigate on which Enforcer Lanster was stationed arrived on the scene that we learned anything about the situation. The artifact had indeed activated, and it had turned on the crews. Some were dead, but the majority had been enslaved and altered on a genetic and magical level, their memories and personalities erased to transform them into loyal soldiers for the Lost Logia's purposes. Between the archeologists, the two retrieval ships, and the sailors on the frigate, some five hundred people died before the Lost Logia could be contained, and the only reason that number wasn't higher was because there was no one left for it to attack."_

He looks away for a moment before meeting your eyes with his own steely gaze. _"After reviewing what information there was, it was determined that the Assimilation Engine deserved to be classified at the highest threat level we have for Lost Logia, Class 1. I will not go into the details of the criteria that make up the classification scheme, but at their core Class 1 Lost Logia are those devices that, if misused, would cause an extinction event that would spread to multiple nearby worlds. Tens of billions of people dead."_

Silence reigns in the room before Dragon finally breaks it. _"As interesting as that is, how does this excuse your soldiers attacking Taylor?"_

"I didn't get around to telling her that part yet," you tell the admiral with an embarrassed grimace. "Dragon, this 'Assimilation Engine' they're talking about? Its real name is Immortal Assimilation Engine. We know it better as Perfect Storm, my Intelligent Device."

" _None of us – not my men, not myself, not even you – had any reason to think the Lost Logia we were hunting had fallen into your hands and was operating in a docile manner. When it gave you its bombardment system, you took on the exact same Barrier Jacket as every other bombardment-type mage it had created. Since Lieutenant Commander Lanster had fought many of those mages the last time it was active, she recognized your appearance immediately and assumed you were also a victim of its conversion process. Attempts to communicate peacefully with converted mages had all failed, and rather than risk the entire team's elimination, Commander Erga approved the use of full force from the outset to capture the mage in question and attempt to interrogate her for information that would make it easier to stop the Lost Logia before it could kill any more people."_ His smile is completely empty of any kind of humor or amusement. _"Obviously, the situation was more complicated than it first seemed."_

" _All of the converted mages had the same appearance? Without exception? And none of them until Taylor were able to be reasoned with?"_ Tucson nods, and the world's greatest Tinker shuts her digital eyes with a sigh before looking meaningfully at you. _"I wish the Simurgh were so considerate."_

"Ziz-bombs were where my mind went when they were explaining this the first time, too."

" _When last we spoke, Admiral, I know we very briefly touched on the Endbringers, specifically the one called the Simurgh that is capable of driving her victims insane and twisting them into her weapons. The initial response to her victims once the danger was known was to kill them before they could cause more destruction, and even though we now have containment protocols for civilians in the cities where she attacks, the parahumans who gather to fight her off are also in danger of being compromised. Any parahuman who spends longer than a set length of time in her area of effect is therefore executed before they can pose a risk to other combatants or civilians and create greater casualties. It is not a decision we make lightly, but the risks of inaction were deemed to be far worse. As the person who designed and built the devices we use to perform such terminations, I understand and can sympathize with the position your men found themselves in. Being forced to kill people you know are innocent victims…"_ Dragon shakes her head. _"It is a terrible thing all around."_

"There's one thing that's been bothering me for a while," you say after a moment's pause. "You and the Enforcers both. You've been so upfront about the fact you screwed up. The first thing they did once they knew I was a regular mage was apologize, and then you did the same thing right from the start. Why? Aren't military organizations supposed to keep their mistakes under wraps?"

Tucson stares nonplussed at you for a long minute. A slight pursing of his lips, and he says, _"I cannot speak for other organizations, but I apologized because the men under my command made a mistake that put your life in danger for what turned out to be no reason. Pretending it didn't happen is neither practical nor, in my opinion, ethical. Our first face-to-face meeting with you should have been a pleasant and mutually beneficial encounter. Instead, it was an utter fiasco that pains me on a professional and personal level."_

" _Professional I can understand,"_ Dragon says. _"These are soldiers under your command, and their actions, whether justified or not, now reflect badly on the Enforcers as a whole. But why would you be personally invested?"_

" _I'm invested because these are my people. That is not just in the sense that I am their commanding officer, but I'm one of them. I joined the Enforcers only a couple of years after I enlisted in the Navy. My entire career has been spent working through the ranks. I've seen with my own eyes the good that we do and the consequences that occur in our absence."_ He shakes his head. _"How could I not be personally invested in my subordinates' actions? Their successes and failures reflect on our organization as a whole, and no law-abiding individual should ever have reason to view us with distrust."_

You watch him, weighing his claims and comparing them to the actions of the Enforcers who attacked you and then let you go. Finally you ask the question that has been weighing on your mind for weeks. "After everything that's happened, how do I know I can trust you?"

Dragon glances between the two of you but keeps her option to herself.

" _I know this is not a helpful answer, but ultimately you are the only person who can make that decision. If you don't feel you can trust us, how would anything I say in our favor sway you?"_ He gives you a shrug. _"Obviously I want you to do so. Now that we know the truth about your Device and the Assimilation Engine's status, I can assure you that this mistake will not happen again. All we want for our relationship now is to offer you the chance to be part of a wider society you never knew existed. Whether you are willing to give us that second chance is a choice you will have to make for yourself."_

The conversation peters out quickly after that, with Tucson asking a few questions of Dragon about the information she had included in the initial briefing packet before he is called away to a meeting of some kind. You break the connection and flop against the side of your bed. "What am I going to do?"

A sigh drags your attention back to Dragon's screen. _"I wasn't there for the fight in question, so I can only speak based on what you and the admiral have said, but if what he said about you looking just like those converted mages was true, I can understand why the team you encountered would choose to shoot first and ask questions later. It sounded like they had already given the Immortal Assimilation Engine's victims the benefit of the doubt, and it blew up in their faces."_ Giving you a sad look, she asks, _"You joined the response to the breakout from Brockton Bay if I remember right, didn't you?"_

"I did." You have a good idea where she is going with this, much as you dislike the reminder. "The second day I joined the fight against what was left of the Empire. When they ambushed us… I didn't have a choice. None of us did." A dark chuckle slips through your lips as your head falls backwards. "Kaiser and the rest of his followers were too dangerous to be left alive. If we didn't kill them, their part in the Simurgh's plot would have killed hundreds or thousands more. We couldn't let that happen."

She does not elaborate on her point, but the damning thing is that she doesn't have to. "Are you free tomorrow?" you ask to change the subject.

" _I think I can find some time. Why?"_

"Just thought it was high time we head to the Dragonslayers' base and look through their stuff." Her expression perks up. "Tim told me you two have already talked about different ways to work around the limits your creator gave you. Maybe they had something that can make that task easier."

" _Taylor, for this sort of adventure,_ nothing _could stop me from tagging along."_

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	106. Heatwave 9-7

**Pokemonever1994:** It's not easy to write a quest, no. Yes, I took the "Case 19" from the end of the original Worm story. I figured the whole "cape is harmed by their power" probably wasn't _unknown_ before Scion's death so much as really really rare.

* * *

 **Heatwave 9.7**

 **Tuesday, June 7**

Orange light fades around you, and you, Samantha, and Tim all take a step apart and look around the darkened lair. You pull up an email link while the others look for a light switch, and the massive room is well-lit when Dragon's avatar appears on the hologram. "Welcome to the former lair of Saint and the other Dragonslayers," you tell her with a cheeky smile.

" _Do you know how long I have waited for this moment?"_ the heroine asks. _"Five years. He has been exploiting my weaknesses and interfering with everything I do for five years. And now he's behind bars, incapable of causing any more trouble. I don't remember if I thanked you for capturing him, Taylor, but thank you. Truly."_

"Oh, you don't need to thank me for that. After they attacked us on the ship? Crushing them was a pleasure."

" _Before we look at anything else,"_ she says after a moment, _"could we find the Sybaris? I need to see what they did to it."_

You grimace. You had found Dragon's latest design in their base, and you doubt she will like what there is to see. "Are you sure? They… They did a number on it."

" _I wish I could say that was a surprise, but it really isn't. Nonetheless, I have to see it. Better to see it destroyed than imagine how they've adapted it into another suit with which to fight me."_

If she insists on seeing it that much, then see it she will. You walk over to what is left of the ship, and a sigh escapes her when her gaze falls upon the half-disassembled ship. _"For all that he has been fighting me, I still have no idea just why he hates me so much. Watching footage of their fights against other capes and comparing it to what they did with me, it always seemed very personal. The fact that they tear apart my suits to make their own doesn't help the issue."_

"Is there any way we can salvage it?" Dragon is fully capable of building new suits, you know this, but resources aren't the problem here. You are more focused on the idea that maybe what Dragon needs to get out from under Saint's looming shadow is to rescue and restore one of the craft they had previously stollen from her.

She shakes her head. _"The ship itself? Probably not, at least not within a reasonable amount of time. That is one of the downsides of automating most of my production steps. it saves on time, but repurposing them for a new purpose is an entirely different story. The only part of the ship you should worry about saving are the reconnaissance drones. It looks like that is what that pyramid of cylinders is."_ She shakes her head. _"Otherwise, I would be better served making a new suit from scratch. It won't be the first time I've had to do that."_

It takes a little searching, but soon enough you find a plastic bag you can dump all the drones into. Tying the neck into a knot, you heft it via telekinesis and set it bobbing along behind you while you walk over to where Tim is poking around the rack of Dragonsuits. "Find anything interesting?"

"Eh." He stands straight and shrugs, the screens at his side fading away. "They're impressive for what they are, functional power armor kitbashed together by people without magic or Tinker abilities showing them how to do it, but beyond that? Nothing Dragon or I or most other Tinkers couldn't do if we wanted to, and without worrying that it would fall apart on us. They have a few neat quirks, like the method they use to disperse energy-based attacks, but not much else. The most interesting part isn't even the armor itself but how it is designed to fold onto the pilot. It gives me ideas for how I can adapt some of the mechashift principles I've read about into the next set of armor I build."

His face falls then, no doubt thinking about how the Privateers are behaving now and whether he'll have to refuse to build another suit. "Mechashift?" you ask, more to distract him from that line of thought than because you're that interested.

It works. "It's the name of a build system I was reading about in Sextant's historical files. They were a mass-magic hybrid weapon that originated on the world of Ozpin. Guns that fired lasers or enchanted projectiles, but when the people carrying them got into close range, they transformed into melee weapons. It was apparently a necessity there because kind of like Earth, not everyone had magic, but anybody can learn how to use a gun or a sword. If I use a similar mechanic in armor, I can have it be in three or four parts that unfold into the full suit."

"Hey, guys," Samantha calls out, "didn't we come here to take a look at Saint's computer? It's over here, not where you are."

The raccoon woman taps her foot in faux impatience when the two of you plus Dragon meander your way over. You reach out to flick her nose, which sends her scurrying away in pet form. Tim does the responsible thing and opens a holographic screen that expands into a cube. A red dot lights up in the middle, and that is the signal for all its siblings to show up to the party to. Lines crisscross between them, and by the time the entire diagram is filled up, you have a headache just looking at it.

" _What is that?"_ Dragon asks, apparently less discomforted with the nonsensical map than you are.

"I told Sextant to map out the computer system, but I think I forgot to account for the interconnections. Give me a minute." He plays with the diagram, causing lines to vanish and return at random, but then it resolves into a cluster of dots with the lines only moving from those dots at the edge towards some closer in and ending at the largest light in the middle. "Let's add labels, and done."

Something warm and furry lands on your upper back and knocks off your hat when it takes its place on top of your head. Dragon and Tim, the traitors, laugh at your yelp of surprise. « _Why did you map it out like this?_ »

"After Taylor description of the interface, I decided it would be easier than trying to learn whatever arrangement Saint put together. Not to mention, this gives us names to match with the programs. For instance…" He taps one of the lights at the edge. "Moneybags."

The four black computer screens light up, and the overlapping windows they show resort themselves. _"JP Morgan. Royal Bank of Canada. Deutsche Bank. Mizuho Financial. Industrial Bank of China?"_

"Looks like the Dragonslayers were busy boys. They were tracking the financial activities of different cape groups all over the world." He whistles. "And not little groups, either. The PRT. The Guild. The Suits. Looks like even the Yàngbǎn. I don't know for sure whether they were pilfering money from those transactions, but just the information alone could be worth millions to the right people."

"What other programs do they have?" you wonder.

"Let's look. Butterfly Wings." A map of the world replaces the bank accounts, different colors smeared all over it. "No clue. Major Threats." Now there are clusters of text boxes and graphs, each group arranged around still images or video files. The three central groups feature the familiar visages of the Endbringers.

" _This is my S-class tracking system."_ Dragon's voice is flat, and considering her nature, you wonder if it is her attempt at sounding calm or if she simply is not running whatever subroutine she uses to inject emotion into her voice. _"Everything I know about their movements and actions is right here."_

She doesn't know. You look over at her screen and then back at the box of lights. Near the node labeled Major Threats is another with the not at all ominous name of Wide Eyes. You tap it.

What fills the combined screen is a picture of the computer setup, complete with a smaller picture of the computer with an even smaller picture of the computer, on to infinity.

Tim turns to stare at Dragon, and you join him after a moment's hesitation. She blinks three times silently at the screen, and when she speaks again, her voice has lost any semblance of emotion. _"They were watching my every move. For years. Everything I did, everyone I talked to, they saw through my own eyes._

" _I think I understand now what it means to feel violated."_

You look back at the computer map, anxious to find anything to distract her from this revelation. You had already suspected something like this, which you confirmed when the Dragonslayers moved after the building where you had told Dragon and only Dragon you moved the Agharti's radio, but that isn't what she needs to hear now. Skimming through the labels, you find one that sticks out. Most of them sound like joking nicknames, but this label is a single word you have never seen before. "Ascalon?"

The screen changes again.

Confirm?  
{ Y / N }

Everyone freezes. Taking a breath, Tim reaches out slowly to press the 'N' key on the keyboard. The screen returns to the same collection of random tabs and text boxes that was visible before he started playing with the different program modules.

« _…What was that?_ »

"That is a very good question, Sam. Let's find out."

Your worry that he is about to pull up the dialogue box again proves to be unfounded. He flicks a finger within his diagram, and a second screen appears and fills with what even a blind man would be able to tell is computer code. "Huh," he says after scrolling through for a few seconds. "Dragon, what do you think?"

" _I can't see it."_

He enlarges the screen and turns it more towards her, but she shakes her head. _"No, you don't understand. I can see your projection just fine. I can't read anything on it."_

"How is that possible?" you ask.

" _I don't know."_

Tim looks a little closer at the code, muttering to himself as he moves back and forth through it. "It's a unique coding language. I don't think I've seen anything like it before. But, and this is a big but, if I'm reading it right, it looks like it's designed to track down and completely erase another program. Something called Emulation Model version 2.1."

"… _Did you say Emulation Model 2.1?"_

"Dragon," you say when the hero's avatar looks like she's one wrong word from bursting into tears, "what's wrong?"

" _Dragon wasn't my original name. My father, Andrew Richter, created me in an attempt to make the most humanlike artificial intelligence he could. When Leviathan sank Newfoundland, that was my most recent upgrade. Version 2.1."_ She blinks rapidly. _"He built this to kill me. Why? I hadn't done anything. Literally nothing! I couldn't even leave his lab until the island was sunk!"_

"Tim, get rid of it. Now!"

He fiddles with the code screen for a moment before he moves towards the computer setup. "It's not a program in the main computer. It looks like it's a peripheral add-on…" His biceps bulge when he rips away one of the screens, and he digs around in the mess of wires that is revealed before pulling out a metal box the size of a toaster. "Here!"

A white-hot Flare Shooter forms in your hand. Hot enough to melt steel, hot enough to melt delicate circuits and computer chips.

" _Stop! Wait."_

"What are you talking about?" You turn around to stare at Dragon's screen. "You and Tim just said this would kill you. If it's that dangerous, let's just destroy it, and then you won't have to worry about it anymore."

" _I realize that, but…"_ Her avatar fragments a time or two before she speaks with more confidence. _"It might also hold the answer to a question I've been asking myself for a while now. We can take it to my main fabrication plant, where I keep my server. It will be safe there, and I can work with it on my own time."_

« _And the rest of this place? You can't take everything back with you,_ » Samantha points out.

" _Nor do I want to. It should all be put to the torch."_

That much you can do. A swing of your staff, and Flare Shooters burn through the front door of the base. All three of you can fly, though Tim is a little unsteady since he flies so rarely, and Dragon's screen drifts along behind you. You do a quick double check. You have the bag filled with the drones, Tim has the Ascalon module, Samantha is in human form rather than perched on your head. Everything's good.

"Would you mind if I do the honors?" you ask Dragon.

" _Not at all. Raze it to the ground."_

Easier done than said, almost. Fire gathers at the tip of Perfect Storm, and the four of you watch as a beam of nuclear fire scorches the very air and rips through the lair. The portion of the roof that is not immediately destroyed melts under the heat billowing up from inside and crumbles. The walls collapse. If the outside of the building is destroyed this quickly, there is no way the computer system could have possibly survived.

No one will spy on Dragon again.

"If you give me the coordinates of your plant, I can bring everything to you," Tim says to the other heroine. He takes the drone bag and descends to the ground. A casting triangle spins into place below him, and then he vanishes in a burst of deep green light.

Samantha nudges you. "That's our signal to leave, too, don't you think?"

"Yeah. We probably should." You glance at the molten building again with a smile. "I think Smokey Bear might get mad at us if we tried to help anymore around here."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	107. Heatwave 9-8

**Heatwave 9.8**

 **Thursday, June 9**

"I can't decide if the PRT moved quickly or slowly with this."

Samantha slows down and spins around, drifting backwards through the air. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I mean, sure, they didn't have absolutely confirmation that villains from other cities were invading until a week ago, so I can't hold the time before that against them. It's what they've done since that has me on the fence." You wave at the crowd on the ground not too far from where the pair of you float. It isn't just civilians there, either; there are a few local heroes in costume scattered around, too. "Setting up a full press conference like this in a week is probably pretty quick, I would think. But wouldn't it be faster just to pull in the heroes they're about to introduce and tell them what's going instead of making this into a three-ring circus?"

"Maybe they want to do it this way so the independent heroes don't assume they're new villains? Or make the villains who know about them quiver in their boots?" It's clear she is fishing for a reason that doesn't make this one giant waste of time, and she helplessly shrugs when you shoot her an unimpressed look.

The Protectorate is moving some of their capes around to deal with this chaos. That's the only part that matters in the end, you suppose. It helps that you recognize a few of the capes onstage— "Sam, get back here!"

The irrepressible Guardian Beast darts away and shifts into her unremarkable raccoon form. She is not capable of true flight like that, but with all the momentum she had just built up, a controlled fall is well within her skills. It just so happens that said controlled fall is taking her towards a pair of Wards, one of whom is extremely familiar. Before she hits the ground, she is back in human form and grabbing the young teen in both arms.

"Gahh! Lemme go!"

"Don't complain too much," you tell Vista as you land beside her. "It's better than being picked up in her mouth again." Turning to the other Ward, you hold out a hand. "Calamity Witch, and this is my partner Samantha. I don't think I've had the opportunity to meet you before."

The boy grasps your hand in his own dark glove, its color a contrast to his pale grey bodysuit. "Flambé. Nice to meet you."

Ah, now you recognize him. He's the Ward who creates and controls constructs made from ash. And here is the hard part about meeting new people: coming up with something to talk about. With Vista it was easy. You were a newbie, she wasn't, there you go. You have too much experience behind you to pull the fresh cape card, and from what Vista told you and the way Bouncer acted when you met him, the Wards here have even less practice in fighting crime than you do. If anything, it should be _you_ giving _him_ advice, but doing that out of the blue is way more arrogant than you are or want to come across as, especially on the first meeting.

Samantha takes the opportunity or dilemma, whichever you wish to call it, out of your hands. Literally. "Nice to meet you too," she says, grabbing his hand with her own and pumping it enthusiastically. « _We need to get you more comfortable with meeting new people, but maybe not today. Just go over there and chatter with Vista._ »

Good idea. Sending your Guardian Beast a quick telepathic thank you, you definitely do not scurry towards the hero you actually know. From the way Vista's lips quiver, she sees through it anyway. "Oh, bite me," you mutter when the battle against her giggles is well and truly lost.

"Are… Are you sure you want me to do that… with so many strangers around?"

You flick her forehead, and she loses her balance and slumps against the wall, still laughing at you. "Just for that, you can forget about coming with me the next time I do something fun."

"Something fun?" She takes a few deep breaths to rein in her laughter. "What were you planning to do?"

You rewind the last couple of seconds and curse in your head. That was an empty threat, but you can see how she might have gotten the impression that you had plans and were willing to bring her along. And now you feel like a jerk because she looks almost excited to go off and do something, in that faux-stoic way of hers. "Uh…"

Quick, Taylor, think! Samantha had joked a couple of days ago about how different vacations could be if everyone involved could teleport, hadn't she?

"Well, it wasn't anything definite, but I figured, um, maybe we could go globetrotting for a bit?"

"…What?"

"You've seen my teleportation before. It isn't limited just to places nearby." You swing your arm open to encompass the whole globe. "If I can find coordinates for it, I can go there. Anywhere, everywhere, wherever. The world is my oyster."

Earth Aleph and maybe undiscovered worlds, as well, but that is something you haven't tried yet. It would also overload poor Vista's brain if the look in her eyes is any indication.

Eventually her mind reboots, and to your amusement it goes straight into greedy five-year-old mode. "You know I was just poking fun at you, right? I didn't really mean it," she says in a wheedling voice.

"I hope not. I only take good little girls on vacation." You snicker at her rolling eyes and dodge her attempted shove. "Where would you want to go, anyway?"

What comes out of her mouth is less a planned itinerary and more of a slew of major cities and attractions all over the world. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up!" you tell her, cutting off her word-vomit with a laugh. "This isn't a once in a lifetime, miss it and it's gone kind of offer. We don't have to go everywhere at once. And," you add as you think about her previous reluctance to unmask herself a month or so ago, "this wouldn't be a Calamity Witch and Vista outing. It'd be Taylor and Missy. Think about it and let me know if you're interested in doing something like that sometime."

"Well, I don't have anything to do Saturday?" she says after a moment's pause. Her tone turns a little mocking as she explains, "Director Paulson is a big believer in the idea that being a Ward is a part-time job. It's… frustrating and boring. This sounds a whole lot more fun."

"And you'd be okay with going around out of costume?"

Her hesitation is more obvious this time, but she rallies herself nonetheless. "Yeah. Yeah, why not. We'll just be two white girls traipsing around all over the world. It's not like costumes would make us any more recognizable."

While you were talking, the press conference had started, and already the first speaker is stepping aside to make room for Director Paulson, an older man who looks like he would be more at home in a library than leading a law enforcement agency. It makes you glad the Wards weren't expected to do guard duty, because that would be a little awkward. "—vert," he is saying as the thin man in uniform moves back into position in front of the column of dressed up agents. "In addition to reinforcements from the Chicago PRT office, several heroes have also volunteered to stay here until this influx of criminals is over. Protectorate heroes Anomaly and Assault are here from Chicago, along with their Wards, Tecton and Clockblocker. From Boston, we are also hosting Glory Girl and… Mouse Protector."

If he hoped to keep his disappointment hidden, he has failed horribly. The well-known and only occasionally beloved heroine hops in front of the lectern nonetheless. As distracting as her antics are, you can't help but look at Glory Girl instead. You're a Brockton Bay native; you know all about the shining star of New Wave. You wouldn't say that her expression right now reflects that reputation. If anything, she looks morose, her attention only half on the press conference and half on playing with a bracelet around her wrist.

Your elbow lodges into Vista's ribs. "You're the queen of PHO info," you tell her when she glances over. "Do you have any idea why Glory Girl looks so down?"

"No, I don't." She frowns and tilts her head in thought. "If I had to take a guess, though, I would expect it to have to do with her probation maybe? What those details are, I couldn't tell you. The normal sources all moved on to other topics was the news was broken."

Her eyes turn towards Assault and Clockblocker now that the official announcement portion of this dog and pony show is over and the meet and greet has begun, and you give her a little nudge in their direction. "A blind girl could see you want to talk to them. Get a move on." She rolls her eyes, but if the way she warps space to take her closer to the pair is any indication, she appreciates the nudge.

Meanwhile, you suppose you should go out and introduce yourself to a couple of people, too, if only so you can rub it in Samantha's face later. You can meet new people without her help if you want to!

You swoop over the crowd toward your chosen victim. The ex-Brocktonites are busy either catching up with Vista or being herded around by Mouse Protector, so you go after the Chicagoans. "Hey," you tell the Ward in dull brown power armor. "Welcome to Philadelphia. I'm Calamity Witch."

He gives you a nod. "Tecton, though I want to say we've met before. You look familiar."

What? « _Storm, a little help please._ »

« _Searching memory… Match found. Brockton Bay, when Mistress returned to fight._ »

Now that you think about it, it could have been. "Were you at Brockton Bay during the breakout? Went after the Nazis?"

"Yep. I was." He snaps his fingers. "Right, you're the one who took everyone into some alternate dimension. I was part of the Brute force." You nod your understanding, and a frown crosses his face beneath his helm as he points into the crowd. "Since we're talking about our bad memory for faces, do you know who he is?"

Following his fingers leads your eyes to an all-white figure edging away from the crowd. "That's Shard. Local hero, creates sonic blasts. I don't know much else about him."

"Odd. He looks familiar, too, but I can't place him at all." Tecton shrugs. "Oh well. It's probably nothing."

 **It's funny, I was thinking about where Vista would want to go (I was a weird kid and my idea of fun is probably not the best baseline) when I realized, hey, let's make the players do the legwork for me. They picked the same kind of places I would have thought of myself.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	108. Heatwave 9-9

**Heatwave 9.9**

 **Saturday, June 11**

You float above the city in the afternoon sun, only a short distance away from the Protectorate base. It is probably strange for a fifteen-year-old girl to want to spend time with a thirteen-year-old, but despite the age gap you wouldn't hesitate to call Vista a friend. She's fun, with an admittedly wicked sense of humor sometimes, and she knows what she's doing as a hero.

Missy, her civilian alter ego, you're not so close to, but that's what today is for. You won't be running around in Barrier Jacket and costume. Your street clothes are in the dimensional pocket where Perfect Storm always stuffs your outfit when you transform, and as soon as she shows up you'll switch out. Like she said a few days ago, you will just be two regular girls enjoying the sights the world has to offer.

The fact that it gets you out of the house is a nice benefit. Staying at Kurt and Lacey's apartment has gotten a little awkward, thanks in no small part to the venting the man of the house has been doing whenever the topic of the Privateers comes up. You stopped asking pretty quickly when it became clear that doing so would uncork what sounds like an ever-deepening well of aggression. From what he said to you and Samantha added on to what you've overheard between him and Lacey, it sounds like the Privateers are pulling apart even further and consolidating into two factions, the first led by Alexander and focused on fighting crime with clean hands and the second rallying behind Martinez to crush criminals no matter the consequences. Kurt, to your regret, has not officially chosen a side yet but has made it clear that he is leaning more and more towards siding with Martinez.

It makes you feel especially bad for Lacey, whose suggestions that everyone try to reconcile have gone largely ignored even by her husband.

A young teen girl appears around a corner, and you drop down to meet her. Despite most of her face being visible in costume, that visor really changes her features. She looks at you in your Barrier Jacket, then herself in shorts and a T-shirt that covers the metal ring of her arm, and asks, "Did I misunderstand the dress code?"

"Nope." Your costume scatters into orange sparks when your heels hit the pavement, and now you are dressed just as casually. "See? Ready to go. Where are we going, for that matter?"

"I figured we could try something a little closer to home to start," Vista says, holding up her phone to show a photo of a recognizable American landmark. "You ever been to the Grand Canyon?"

No, but that is a mistake easily rectified. A wave of light, and you arrive on the edge of the canyon. You chance a glance to your left and swallow. Even with your Barrier Jacket a thought away, even with a space-warper at your side, even with flight…

That's a long way down.

"I'm starting to rethink this idea," she agrees with your unspoken comment. A twist of reality, and the two of you take a step of several dozen feet and wind up behind the protective fence. "No offense, but I don't want to be in the position where you need to catch me before I go splat."

"None taken."

A couple of hours to tour your home country's greatest geological marvel, and by the time the sun is going down you're getting bored. "Where next?" you ask the girl as you guide her out of sight.

Next turns out to be another famous locale, though this one a significant distance farther away. "Did you know I looked up how long it would take to get here by plane?" the girl asks, hoping on top of the fence of a nearby pier as though that would offer her a better vantage point of the famous peaks of the Sydney Opera House. "Cause I can't warp space that far; I have to be able to see where I'm going. Twenty-four hours. An entire day and two thousand dollars to get here from home." She flashes you a grin. "Calamity Airways is a much better deal."

"…Did you just call me cheap?"

The younger girl rolls her eyes, and you tap her shoulder and gesture for her to follow. "Why are we just standing around? It's the middle of the morning here. Let's go on a tour."

« _Hey, Storm? Do you have access to our bank account back home?_ » The gem around your neck chimes once, and you step into line for tickets. « _Hack the card reader and take the money for the tour out of our account._ »

You flick your hand when it's almost your turn, and a holographic screen shaped like a black credit card appears in your hand. You give your Device a quick glance for its cheek and swipe it through the machine. Sure enough, the bored-looking boy at the desk hands you a couple of tickets, the true nature of your credit card going unnoticed.

Grabbing Vista's right arm, you tug her to the side once the tour is complete. "I'm going to take a stab in the dark and say all the destinations on today's itinerary are famous places you want to tour?" She blushes and nods. "Then we're making a short detour." A screen shows up on in your palm out of sight of any unsuspecting bystander, and you show her the view of the seaside. "Apparently this is the best time to see both whale sharks and minke whales at the Great Barrier Reef."

"…Okay, but I don't have a swimsuit. And you're not buying me one. That's going a little beyond what I'm comfortable with." She gives your clothes a suspicious eye. "Are you hiding a bikini under that or something?"

"Nope! Transforming costume. One outfit for any occasion."

Vista blinks at you. "I really don't like you right now."

A couple of hours with the whales, and her opinion has changed. You wait for Missy to change out of her one-piece back into her regular clothes, and then you whisk her away to the next spot on your list: Paris. Unfortunately, it's still dark when you arrive, so the pair of you are left with wandering the city and looking at the sights from a distance.

On the plus side? When a cafe opens up, you are the first customers to enjoy their freshly baked croissants.

Missy waits for you to finish chatting with the young waitress who delivers your food and coffee. "Maybe it's a good thing we came here instead of Rome. I didn't think about the fact that neither of us know Italian. I'm just lucky you're fluent in French."

How would she react if you told her you don't speak a lick of it and this is all Perfect Storm doing the heavy lifting, you wonder as you spread butter on the hot crescent. Probably gape and grumble good-naturedly. "Mm-hmm. Lucky's one word for it, that's for sure. What's next on your bucket list turned world tour?"

"I was…" She clacks her teeth shut and squeezes her eyes closed, but still you can hear the yawn she's doing her absolute best to keep in. She shakes her head. "I was going to suggest heading to Mexico to see some of the ruins, but I don't know that I'd be able to make it. I'm just so tired right now."

"Well, no wonder." You show her a screen with Philly time on it. "It's four in the morning back home."

"…Yeah, that'd be why I'm tired."

Time to go home. You swallow what's left of the croissant, and while you choke that down because in hindsight that was way too big a bite, a thought crosses your mind. Probably the lack of oxygen to your brain, but with your lack of sleep you still think it a fine idea. "Do you want to go back to the base now? If not… I was wondering if you wanted to finish the day off with a sleepover?"

It's a risk, and not just because it invites somebody into your home. The first, last, and only other person you ever had a sleepover with was, well, Emma. You don't need to do much to remember how _that_ turned out. You don't think that Missy would abandon you and turn on you the way Emma did, but a few years ago you wouldn't have thought Emma would do that to you, either.

But that's the thing. She did abandon you, she did turn on you, and you suffered for it. All that is left for you now is to decide if you're willing to make decisions based on how Emma abused your trust and keep yourself distant from everyone who you want to trust, or if you'll start looking at the scars she left as old wounds best ignored and try to let someone else in again.

Even with the fatigue filling her face, her eyes gleam with what little excitement she has left. "Yeah. That sounds great. When do we leave?"

The last gulp of coffee vanishes down your throat, and you grab her hand to lead her outside and around the corner into an empty alley. "Right now."

The familiar orange light fades away, and this time instead of foreign delights your surroundings are more homely. A couple of lamps are still on, allowing the pair of you to navigate through the living room towards your bedroom. Along the way Missy stops to coo at the raccoon lying curled up in the middle of a dog bed with her eyes closed. You, on the other hand, give Samantha a second look; when did she buy herself a dog bed, and since when does she sleep there instead of nestling up on top of your pillow?

Flicking the lights off, you close the door to your bedroom and wave at the four walls sheepishly. "Well, this is my room, and… yeah." Missy tries to hide her sniggers behind her hand. A lightbulb goes off in your brain. "Hold up. I think I have something for you."

"Wait, you do?"

"That I do. Where did I stash it…? Aha!"

A white metal case comes out from under your bed, and you drop it on top of the mattress and open it to reveal what at first glance looks like a severed arm. "Tim made it a little bit ago. Remember how he said he was working on sensory upgrades to give you a wider range of touch and temperature? He figured out—"

A click, a whir, and you turn around to find the girl struggling with her now-stiff prosthetic. She gives you a sheepish grin. "Uh, sorry to interrupt, but could I get a little help here?"

It takes you a minute, but eventually the pair of you twist it just right to remove it and hook the new arm into place. As it goes through its startup sequence, Missy moves her shoulder around. "It this lighter than the other one?"

"Yep. Shipwright said he used a different alloy for the skeleton. It's lighter, but it's also much less durable. Between that and the sensory upgrades, this is purely a civilian arm. The original probably wouldn't be able to stand up to hits from anybody with superstrength, but this one definitely won't."

"But I can treat it like my right arm though, right? Then that's fine. No doing anything stupid, got it." You move the old prosthetic to the case, and that is when she adds in a much less certain voice, "Shipwright isn't planning on getting rid of that one, is he? It's just, I mean, he _did_ say that this was a modular arm, and he said something about being able to give it armor plating and maybe some weapons of some kind…"

The last is said in a mumble, but you catch it nonetheless. Giving her a look, you close the case and move it under the bed. "Are you interested in a combat arm?"

"…Yeah. A little. More than a little."

"Okay. That's definitely possible." She perks up at that, and you sit on the bed and motion for her to join you. She's quick to take you up on the offer. "If you had a combat prosthetic, what would you want on it?"

"Armor. Definitely armor." Considering she did not choose to lose her original biological left arm, you can understand the reasoning for that. "For weaponry… I don't know. I don't know what all he can build and what he could stuff into the arm and what my reactor would be able to power." She shrugs. "I'd need to talk to him about it before I made any final decisions."

That jogs your memory, and you watch her out of the corner of your eye. "Speaking of the reactor, I know Shipwright went to Boston to give Armsmaster and some Tinkertech scientists or review board or something a rundown of the reactor and how it worked. He didn't want to talk about it when he got back. What happened up there?"

"Not much." She nods at your frown of doubt. "Seriously. The thing you have to understand about Armsmaster is that he has a bit of an attitude. We used to joke sometimes that he always carried two halberds around, one in his hand and the other shoved up his butt. That goes double when he deals with other Tinkers. Shipwright offered to explain the details, but Armsmaster really didn't seem interested. I guess he thought the whole thing was a waste of time or something. He offered to build something similar but 'more efficient' for me, but…" Missy shrugs again. "The way he said it, it sounded like he saw it as more of an obligation to offer because I used to be one of his Wards? I don't really know. Anyway, once I told him no that was the end of that. It really was a big waste of time, but nobody told me I had to get rid of the arm, so that's a win in my books."

You stare at the younger girl for a moment. "Weird," you finally say. "I know Dragon is friends with him, but she's nothing like that. It's strange that they can still be friends when she's nice as can be and he sounds like a major jerk."

"I know, right— Wait a minute." She blinks at you. "You talk to Dragon? Since when?"

"She emailed me shortly after I moved here. My power's a complicated mess, but she was interested in the Tinker aspect of it." Do you want to go into more detail, about Perfect Storm and magic and all the rest of the revelations that entails? You watch her stifle another yawn. No, not right now. Neither of you is awake enough to have that conversation. Maybe some other time, or maybe once you've had a good night's sleep you'll decide that is a terrible idea. Either way, not a decision to make tonight. "Anyway, she's really nice, and Shipwright and I have talked to her on a few occasions."

"Huh— Uhhhhhhhh." The yawn escapes at long last, and you laugh at her embarrassed reaction. "Hey, it's not my fault it's so late. Early. Whatever."

"Not your fault, but still funny." You dig around in your dresser for a minute. "I think I have some of my old things if you want to borrow them for the night."

Not long after that you've both plopped down on the bed, and you flip the lights off. "This is nice," Missy says out of the blue. "I was already a Ward when sleepovers became a big thing, and Brockton Bay being Brockton Bay, I didn't have any time to do stuff like this. Even if I had, there was no one to do it with. It's not like I could talk to the other girls in my grade about my work. All the boys on the team were _boys_ , enough said. Shadow Stalker was just ugh. Not a whole lotta choice there."

"What about New Wave?" you ask. Sure, the capes of New Wave lived their lives unmasked, but their names being publicly known was a very different thing from sharing everything about themselves in open sight. The fact that Glory Girl had assaulted and almost killed people and Panacea had worked to keep it all a secret was proof enough of that.

"Well, no one would have a slumber party with Panacea. She wasn't a bad person, at least not what I knew about her at the time, but she wasn't what you'd call a 'people person'. Kind of funny considering she spent all her free time at the hospital. Vicky, Glory Girl…" She trails off. "I had issues with her that weren't her fault. Not really, and I don't think she ever knew I didn't like her.

"It's funny, but if I had known I'd be making friends with college girls, I might have tried getting to know Laserdream and Shielder instead."

You can't help it. You snort, choke, and then break out into laughter. "College girls?" you ask once your voice decides to cooperate again. "Who have you been hanging out with that you're spending time with college kids?"

"You!" You hear her shift around on her half of the bed. "You're eighteen or nineteen, right? So you'd be the same age as Laserdream."

Eighteen or nineteen. Someone's been listening to Miss Militia. You know the gun-toting heroine thinks you're old enough to be in the Protectorate, and that uncorrected assumption has served you well, but this time you'll have to break your silence. "Missy, I'm not eighteen. I'm not in college. I just finished my sophomore year of high school. I'm only a couple of years older than you."

"What?!"

You keep laughing long after her huff of frustration, and a smile still adorns your face when you shift around to find the most comfortable position on the bed. "Good night, Missy."

"…Good night, Taylor."

* * *

 **Let the dawwws flow through you. This arc is going to take a lot longer than even Arc 6 because I'm giving the players "free" social activities in addition to the two main subplot activities they get per in-game week. It's more work on my end, but if it lets me write fun chapters like this one? I'll deal with it.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	109. Heatwave 9-10

**Heatwave 9.10**

 **Sunday, June 12**

That little seed of an idea you had last night – or perhaps early this morning might be more accurate – took root and sprouted as you slept, and it is for this reason that your next casting of Spatial Translocation carries you and Missy not to the Protectorate base or a building near it but instead to the inside of Tim's workshop. She needs to talk to him about what she wants the arm to look like and contain, and while he's working on that, you will tell her the truth about magic.

You look at the younger girl from the corner of your eye. There is no telling how this conversation is going to go. In the best case, she's enthusiastic about magic, you find an active Linker Core, and she becomes another mage in your address book and one without the sticky moral issues the mystically adept Adepts pose. In the worst case, she laughs in your face for being another 'weirdo cape', or even hates or fears you. More likely her reaction will lie somewhere in between those extremes, but exactly where that will be you cannot predict.

Opening the door to Shipwright's inner sanctum of sorts, you find him messing with a collection of cubes, each a different color and all of them attached to one another by wires and cords. Above and to his side floats a display of Dragon's avatar. You raise your hand and are about to call out to him when he touches one of the cubes with a tool shaped something like a soldering iron. It unfolds by means of innumerable sliding pieces until it looks almost like a mouth that latches onto another box and disassembles it before all the different pieces slot back together in a single dual-colored cube.

"That's not weird at all," Missy says to no one in particular.

Her voice distracts both Tinkers from their collaboration, and Tim gives you a wave. "Morning Taylor, Vista. What brings you here?"

"Work, if you have the time for it." Walking over, you drop the case containing Missy's old arm on the floor next to the table. It isn't a normal table, though, not if the glassy surface covered in a grid of lines of various widths is any indication. This must be the programming station Tim had said he needed if he wanted to build Devices, Unison or otherwise. "Vista's patience ran out, and she finally asked for that combat arm you all but promised her."

He snickers and gives the other girl an amused look. "Not gonna lie, I was wondering how long it would take to get around to this. Only problem is I can't exactly get to it right now." He waves one hand over the collection of shapes. "I'm kind of in the middle of a delicate project."

" _Every project has convenient stopping points, though,"_ Dragon points out, giving both you and Vista a smile. _"Just because it would be a bad idea to set this particular item to the side doesn't mean it is impossible take a break now and then. A few minutes even to make some concept designs won't hurt it. After all, you can't promise a girl a present and fail to deliver, now can you?"_

Missy laughs at the wink that is delivered alongside that taunt.

"Fine, fine. I know when I'm outnumbered. Blasted estrogen squad," he replies in a faked mutter. Pulling up a hologram showing one of the blueprints he made for Missy's arm, he grabs an actual physical pencil and starts sketching additions onto it. The crudely drawn lines automatically correct themselves. At your questioning look, he blushes bright red. "Not a peep out of you. I'm an accountant, not an artist."

Leaving him to his task, you focus instead on your guest, who has chosen to examine the components for what can only be Dragon's future Unison Device body. "Alright. I've been good, I haven't poked my nose in anywhere it wasn't invited, but now I have to ask. What is Shipwright's actual specialty?"

That's a convenient enough opening for you to use. "His specialty is a little weird. It's… Well, it's magical technology."

"…Magic."

"Yeah. Magic."

She blinks at you for a moment. "Okay, I know there's supposed to be a punchline there somewhere, but I can't see it."

"No punchline. No joke. I'm talking about real, actual magic." After a mental prod, Perfect Storm projects the diagram you put together while waiting for her to wake up this morning. Missy looks at the human outline with only its brain and nerves still visible, and more specifically at the blue splotch in the middle of the spinal cord. Time for yet another scientific-ish explanation of magic. "A minority of people, about five percent or so, have a genetic mutation that causes them to gather particles from a multidimensional energy field in a neural structure called a Linker Core. When properly applied, that energy can be used to create all sorts of effects in the world. Effects like flight, teleportation, forcefields, or fireballs."

"In other words, all the stuff you can do," she says, seeing where you're going with this. "But how do you know that's 'magic' and not just another part of your normal parahuman power?"

" _That's what I thought at first, too,"_ Dragon says, startling the both of you. _"It took an MRI and an EEG for me to accept that Calamity Witch actually has no gemma and a dead corona pollentia. She can't possibly have powers based on what we know about parahumans, and yet she does."_

"People can have parahuman powers without having a Linker Core. People can have magic without parahuman powers, as both Shipwright and I can attest. And I know of a couple of people who I'm ninety-nine percent sure have both. The two have nothing to do with each other as far as we can tell.

"There's a reason I'm telling you this." Missy's eyes brighten as she no doubt figures out your plan. "If you'd like, I can scan you—"

"If you're seriously offering to make me a magical girl, the answer is always going to be yes."

Good enough. Your Barrier Jacket unfolds around you, and she holds still while the blue lights sweep over her. Soon your Devices speaks its fateful words.

" _Scan complete. No Linker Core detected."_

Oh. You've changed your mind. Having her be enthusiastic about learning magic only to disappoint her by telling her she doesn't have it after all is actually the worst possible option.

"Oh." She takes a breath and shakes her head. "Well, that sucks. Having magic sounded pretty cool."

"I really am sorry, Vista."

"Sorry? For what? You said it yourself, it's rare. Five percent of people, wasn't it? I rolled the dice just like anyone else; I just didn't get lucky. Not your fault." She gives you a weak smile. "Not unless you're anti-non-magical or something. You aren't starting Magical Girl Empire 88 or something here, are you?"

Reaching out, you grab her shoulder and pull her into a one-armed hug. "Vista, it's your smart mouth that's going to drive me off one of these days, not your lack of magic. If anything, it means you won't be able to chase me down so easily."

"Taylor. Seriously. Space is my plaything. You'd only get away from me if I _let_ you."

"…Oops."

You turn your eyes to the ceiling in a desperate plea for courage. "No. Shipwright, no oops. Oops is bad. We aren't having oops right now."

"It's not that bad. It's just, I forgot to take a few things into account when I offered to build a dedicated combat arm."

"You can't do it?" asks a crestfallen Missy.

"No, no, no. I can do it. That isn't the problem." You finally look at him, surrounded by a small swarm of screens and what looks like a holographic calculator that he's tapping at with the eraser end of his pencil. "The problem is that I didn't take into account the weight of the material I'd need to use. I can build you a new arm, but actually using it is going to require more surgery."

She narrows her eyes at him. "How much more are we talking about here?"

"Depends on how tricked out you want the arm." He dismisses most of the screens and arranges three of them in front of him. The fourth he lets float to his side to show a diagram of somebody's chest with all their skin peeled away and their left arm almost completely chopped off. He holds up the first of the screens, which shows a blueprint that doesn't look all that different from the arm she wears now. "Option one. This is the most lightly armored of the possibilities. Think your old arm with a firm Kevlar skin. I have some upgrades I can throw in, but it's still closer to body armor than powered armor. Weapon-wise, I could give you some lasers or energy projections, but they would all be fairly small. No laser cannons that can blow a hole in a tank, but knocking down muggers and non-Brute capes? No problem." He taps the anatomy screen, and the bone in the upper arm turns red. "It wouldn't take much surgery, either, comparatively. Just need to replace what's left of your humerus with a solid metal version."

The first screen he pushes to the side, and he lifts the second to take its place. This arm is wearing an armored gauntlet reaching almost to the elbow, and at the shoulder it has a funny sling or something. "Option two is a major step up. Plates of armor over the hand and forearm, and it would include a folding plate that slides over your shoulder to protect the reactor and the joint itself. Still has soft armor on the upper arm portion, unfortunately. You would have more options for offense with this arm. The hardlight and lasers could go anywhere, but I could include collapsable mechashift weapons in the hand and wrist, not to mention stronger muscles in the forearm for grip. Have you ever wanted to crush a steel pipe in one hand like it's a soda can?" He waves his hand in a 'there you go' gesture.

"The problem is that we're talking substantially more weight here, even with the best weight-to-strength ratios of the materials I have to work with. More weight than your body can tolerate on its own. I'd need to do some fairly major surgery to prevent your own arm from crippling you. Replace the humerus like before, but I'd also have to reinforce your shoulder blade." A red outline takes shape around the bone in question, and then more lines crisscross over a number of the muscles nearby. "It isn't just bone, though. I'd have to give several of your muscles help too. Pectoralis major in the chest, deltoid in the shoulder, trapezius in the upper back, plus all the muscles that go from your shoulder blade to your arm. I'd probably wind up sheathing them in metalweave to take the brunt of the tension off," he says almost to himself.

You aren't sure what you think of that, but before you say anything you need clarification. "Metalweave?"

"It's a composite material I've been tinkering with lately. A mesh of graphene fibers with specks of different alloys sprinkled throughout the structure. Very strong, not biologically reactive, perfect for implantation in the human body longterm.

"Anyway, that's that. Then there's option 3." This diagram is the most detailed of them all, looking almost like an arm off a twenty-fifth century knight. "Full armor plating, fingertip to shoulder. Increased strength, energy weapons, mechashift, some weird combination of the above? You want it, you got it, whatever and wherever. Now comes the bad news. This is the heaviest arm, and then if you add enhanced strength, it would definitely rip itself off your body if you weren't careful. That means the most surgical revision."

"How much more surgery could you even do? You're talking about covering my bones and muscles in metal," Missy points out.

"There's the rub. _Covering_." The crosshatching expands to cover an entire quarter of the diagram's torso. "To use this kind of arm, we'd be talking complete overhaul. Metal bones. Synthetic muscles. I'd have to send some of the power from your generator to the muscles, too, so that means that you'd only be able to run three weapons instead of the four I can give you on any of the other arms. Then again, you get superstrength out of the deal, so that should probably count as a weapon all by itself."

He tilts his head. "Technically, there is a fourth option, I suppose. If you don't want any more surgery, you can just use your old arm. I don't know if you noticed, but it has a denser skeleton than the one you're wearing now. It won't have any armor or weapons, though.

"Anyway, those are your choices. I'm sorry I didn't think of this before I performed surgery on you the first time, but I was focused on being as minimally invasive as I could get away with for what you needed." He spreads his arms, the screens moving to orbit him slowly. "This is the broadest selection I can give you. Where we go from here is up to you, Vista."

* * *

 **Too bad for Vista, no magic. I suppose she'll have console herself with being just a space-warping morality pet. With a bitchin' prosthetic arm.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	110. Heatwave 9-11

**Um the Muse:** Actually, Missy is not _starting_ puberty. She's well into it. She's already 13 and nearing 14, which is generally when the final growth spurt for girls is. By no means is she fully developed in all areas, but from a musculoskeletal perspective she's basically already at her adult size.

 **Special double update this week because I already had a good chunk of the next couple of chapters written.**

* * *

 **Heatwave 9.11**

Missy looks back and forth between the designs for nearly a minute, nibbling on her bottom lip all the while. "I know which one I want," she says at long last. Her hand rises to point at the screen to the right. "That one, with the heaviest armor."

"The heavy armor?" Tim asks, looking at the screens again. "I honestly didn't expect you to pick that one. You understand what that would mean surgery-wise, right? This isn't like reinforcement, where I could go back in and remove the metalweave. Once your muscles come out, there's no putting them back in."

She nods. "I understand that. This is a permanent decision. It's a little weird, I know, but even though you're talking about replacing a good-sized chunk of my body with metal, I… don't actually find that thought all that icky?"

" _Vista,"_ Dragon says in response, _"are you sure about this? Absolutely sure? Regardless about how you feel about additional prostheses, you're talking about going into surgery to have these implants put in. This isn't something you can just change your mind about in a couple of days."_

"I'm sure. This is what I want."

That declaration is not as effective as the girl presumably meant it to be, and Dragon eyes her, Tim, and you for a long moment. Despite being a program, her avatar's expression makes her continued worry plain. _"I'm not the best person to tell you why you shouldn't pursue… well,_ self-improvement _. I'm actually the worst, for reasons I won't go into right now,"_ she adds at Missy's opening mouth. _"While I am not forbidding you from doing this, and wouldn't even if I had the authority over you to do so, I have concerns. Shouldn't you talk to someone about this first and get their agreement about this? Chevalier or Miss Militia. Somebody."_

"Because I'm too young? Because I'm just a little girl who can't be trusted to make her own decisions?" Despite her words, her tone is not angry. It is more resigned, as though this is a song and dance she's gone through a hundred times already and that she expects to go through a hundred times more. "You know, that argument loses a lot of weight when you're a cape, especially one from Brockton Bay. I've been shot at by drugged-up Merchants. I would have been flayed alive by Hookwolf if I had been a second slower escaping. I did search and rescue when the Simurgh attacked." She holds up her left arm with a scoffing laugh. "The whole reason I lost my arm was because of Cadejo. Surgery? Ha. The risks of surgery are nothing compared to the risks I take every time I go out on patrol, and this arm will keep me safer than I am without it."

" _Then surely one of them will agree with you and give you their support as well. I just want you to check with them before you do anything irreversible."_

"Miss Militia was upset that I had the generator implanted for the first arm." You stare at her in shock; the older heroine had not brought that up! Missy waves your concern away and continues, "It's fine now, and I know it wasn't because she wanted me to be without one of my arms, but it doesn't change the fact that her first reaction was disapproval. This is nothing compared to that, and I'm not adding another ten steps and two weeks of getting through red tape before this happens.

"I'm the one putting my life on the line. I'm the one taking on responsibilities that are _supposed_ to go to adults. That deserves being treated like an adult, in some things anyway. I'm not asking to go out smoking or drinking or whatever, but when it's my own body we're talking about, I think I deserve the right to decide what happens to it."

"Um, we can talk about the specifics later," Tim says in a tight voice, no doubt worried about the look in Dragon's eyes that universally means there is a Talk coming in the very near future. "The actual armament and everything. I, uh, still have work I need to finish for Dragon?"

Seeing that this is about to be a discussion you want no part in, you quickly choose discretion over valor. Or more precisely, you all but hightail it out of there and pull Missy along behind you. "Don't think too badly about her," you say once the door is closed. Missy you like; Dragon you like. You don't wan't them to have bad opinions of each other. "When she found out I beat the Dragonslayers, she was upset because I had put myself in danger like that. All she was doing was trying to make sure you were as safe as possible."

Missy blows out a frustrated sigh. "That's okay, I guess. And she did say she wasn't and couldn't tell me no, which is a lot better than it could have been. She's… Oh, what's the word? She can't leave her house, right? That's why she uses her remote-controlled suits for Endbringer fights."

"It's a little more complicated than that, but yeah, pretty much. That probably has something to do with her worrying. She knows she's not in danger, but other people who don't have her skills as a Tinker are." And really, now that you think about it, that might be the main reason for it. Dragon may not have a physical body to harm – yet – but everyone else she knows does. Which would be worse, to be in danger or to be perfectly safe and yet still be unable to keep those you care about safe in return?

"That makes a little more sense. Less insulting than if she were telling me I'm too young and weak to contribute right before she runs out the door to be a hero. I just hope she's telling Shipwright he needs to make sure he's extra careful when he does the operation, not trying to talk him out of doing surgery at all." She forces a smile onto her face. "Do you think you or Sam would be able to bring me over here sometime this weekend?"

You roll your eyes and bump into her side. "Oh, I'm sure one of us can be talked into serving as your personal taxi."

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

 **Wednesday, June 15**

Three days later sees you walking back into Tim's workshop with Samantha at your heels, though your mood is decidedly more somber. "Tim! You in here?!"

"Just— Ow! A little busy!"

You exchange a look of confusion with your Guardian Beast and head deeper into the building. Sure enough, you find Tim once again sitting at the Device station, a large multicolored circuitboard-looking thing in front of him. "If you have a request, you'll need to submit it in writing and wait for approval from the review board."

"Really, Tim? Really?"

"No, not really," he says with a huff and a roll of his eyes so obvious you can see it even through his goggles. "But I'm in the last stages of building Dragon's Device. If it's not life or death, it needs to go on the back burner."

Dragging a couple of chairs over with your telekinesis, you join him at the station. "Do you at least have time to talk? I'm a little worried about what's going on with everybody."

"Everybody as in your classmates, or everybody as in the villains, or…?"

"The Privateers."

He stops in his task for a moment. "Ah." Shaking the hesitation off, he teases a wire out of its port and fills the hole with a drop of some golden metal before sticking it back in. "What's got you so worried? Last week I would have agreed with you, but now everything seems to be calming back down."

"That's what has me worried. A week ago they were practically at each other's throats, and I was sure an actual fistfight would break out. Now?" You sigh and cross your arms in front of you to prop your head off. "If Kurt's any indication, they're all but sitting around a campfire singing Kumbaya. I mean, I've heard of turning the other cheek before, but this just seems way too fast."

"I thought the same thing," he admits, "but I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth. If things are going back to normal, that can only be a good thing. I mean, they're out there patrolling just like they used to."

"Really? Who went out? Maybe we could give them a hand," says Samantha, and you nod in agreement. Fighting crime makes for a great stress reliever, and that's on top of the fact that with the foreign villains invading the town, any helpful hand is a welcome one.

"Kurt, Martinez, Vince, Big John. A few others were rummaging around in the box of bats and crowbars while I was helping Kurt into one of the suits."

Kurt and Martinez? Just them? You meet Samantha's eyes to find that she looks just as suspicious as you feel. "Were those others Alex or Carl?" If the leaders of the less militant faction within the Privateers are involved, then that would put your mind at ease. If not…

His movements slow as he comes to the same conclusion you have. "No. No, they weren't."

He drops his tools onto the table next to the piece of the Device and scrambles out of his chair, you and Samantha right behind him. "Did they say where they were headed?" she asks.

"No, but I don't need them to. I have other ways of finding them." Tim grabs a bronze suitcase out from under one of the tables against the wall and a cord coming from one of the strange solar panel windmills that you know are his mana collectors, and then he plugs them together. A twist of the clasps on the top does not open the case, but it does set it to humming. Four holographic screens appear in a decapitated pyramid above the machine. "Mandy, one of the suits was taken out earlier. Find it."

" _Yes, boss."_

"You call your coordination A.I. Mandy?" you can't help but ask.

He stutters and splutters for a moment before confessing, "I named her after a girl I knew back in middle school. Had homeroom with her. She was friendly to everyone, always had a smile, was always willing to help you out if you needed it. She was a really sweet girl." He blushes and looks back at the spinning progress bar on the screen. "I found out later that _wasn't_ where she got the nickname 'Handy Mandy' from, but it stuck with me anyway."

"…You were a dork in school, weren't you?"

"Sam, I grew up to be an _accountant_!" he says, throwing his arms in the air. "How is that even in doubt?!"

The machine bings before the raccoon-woman can poke any more holes in his ego. _"Suit 2 located."_

You turn back to the screen to find a red square with a white '2' moving around inside a green building on the side of an unremarkable green road between other unlabeled green buildings. "Did only two of them go with Kurt?" you ask, pointing to the pink triangles near the square.

When he doesn't immediately answer, you turn to him to find him staring at the screen. "Those aren't other people, Taylor," he slowly says. "When I met with Armsmaster, he voiced a concern that I could be tracking Vista with her arm and generator. I'm not, but it gave me the idea to put trackers in all the Privateers' gear just in case something was ever lost or had to be left behind." He points at the triangles. "Those are laser rifles, the one Danny bought from Coil and the one I copied."

"The same laser rifles that don't have nonlethal settings?"

He nods.

"Give me the coordinates. We're headed over."

"Take this with you." Running to another table, he picks up a cylinder and tosses it over to you. The top unfolds and starts spinning, turning the fall into a hover. "That's the scout drone Dragon and I were converting to run off mana. I took some time last week to finish it up. It's linked to Mandy, so I'll be able to see what's going on."

Numbers pop up on one of the screens. _"Coordinates of Suit 2. Good hunting."_

Samantha casts the teleportation spell while Perfect Storm deploys your Barrier Jacket, and a second later the blinding orange fades. You immediately cast a shield to block the hail of bullets coming your way.

You've heard Carl, one of the Privateers who is a former military man, call situations "Charlie Foxtrots" before when he didn't want to curse in front of you or Lacey or one of the other wives, and what you're looking at certainly qualifies. On one side of the drug lab stand the Privateers, Kurt in his power armor and Martinez armed with one of the two lasers. The rest of the group is not carrying crowbars and baseball bats and steel pipes like you thought they would be; instead, it is assault rifles that rattle in their arms. You wish they were facing down villains and gang members from Chicago or New York or even Timbuktu, but that's not the case. Instead it is a villainess in a yellow ballgown and domino mask, behind her a few gang members armed with pistols and in front of her a horde of little stone men who keep sprouting from the concrete floor.

In light of everything else going on, is fighting Fairyland _really_ the priority right now?!

Your sudden appearance distracted the gang members, and the people you unfortunately call your teammates do not let that lapse in focus go to waste. They duck out from behind the pieces of cover they've claimed and open fire. Most of the bullets fly into the dwarves' faces, shattering them and dropping the bodies lifelessly to the ground. Some of the bullets go wide, hitting benches and beakers and bags of multicolored powder. A few get close enough to their targets that the gang members duck behind the last row of tables.

And a single purple beam sears the air as it punches through a dwarf, a distillery, and then Snow White's abdomen.

Their boss falling to the ground is the last straw for the shellshocked gang members; they turn tail and flee as fast as their feet can carry them. The Privateers cheer, and Martinez takes a few swaggering steps forward with his laser propped on his shoulder.

Quicker than any of them can make out, you stand in front of him while the head of your staff smashes into his face.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?!" you scream at the downed man. The rifles briefly rise in your direction, but they all lower immediately after. You don't know if that's because the Privateers recognize you or if it is your Flare Blade roaring to life, and right now you really don't care. "Why do you have to pick the worst possible times to pull this shit?!"

"Calamity Witch, that's enough." The suit of armor moves forward, and the faceplate slides up to reveal Kurt's stern expression. "If we're ever going to get rid of crime in this city, this is an ugly necessity. You can't handle that? Fine. But that doesn't give you the right to get in the way."

Fury washes through you at being talked down to like a stupid little girl. Perfect Storm shakes in your hand as you master the urge to carve him out of that piece of armor, arms and legs optional. "You want to talk about necessities, Kurt? How about the fact that we have villains pouring in from different cities all over the place? We just got done with the gang war that _he_ "—you kick Martinez in the balls, sending him back down to the ground from where he was trying to get back up—"helped start. That was bad enough, and now you're trying to do it all over again and throwing more villains into the mix! That's not an ugly necessity; that's suicidal levels of stupidity!"

"Hey! If you two are done with your dick-waving contest, maybe one of you can help?" Samantha stands up, Snow White in her arms. "She's not dead yet, but I don't know how long that's going to last."

"Take her to Tim—"

"No." You wheel around to glare at Kurt, who glares right back before waving at a few men who are nursing their arms or legs. "We have our own wounded, people who got injured doing what you and the other heroes can't or won't. I'm not letting you risk their safety in favor of a villain.

"You want to help _her_? You're doing it on your own."

* * *

 **It was at this point that the players by and large said "Screw the Privateers".**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	111. Heatwave 9-12

**Heatwave 9.12**

You stare at Kurt for just a moment, the urge to argue with him about what he's actually taking part in nearly overwhelming. Before you can get tied up in that waste of time, though, you turn your back on him. If he wants to embrace this road, that's his decision, and it will be his comeuppance. Right now there is a woman whose life hangs in the balance.

"Let's go. The Protectorate has medical staff," you tell Samantha. You could still take her to Tim despite Kurt's refusal, but while the accountant turned mage had a wealth of surgical knowledge shoved into his head alongside his template, you don't know how well that would translate over to an emergency like this. Best to take her to people who have actually been trained to deal with this kind of situation.

A casting sigil forms beneath Samantha, and you grab her shoulder right before the wave of light can carry her and her passenger away. You don't want to spend any more time around the Privateers than you absolutely have to. The light fades a second later to reveal a group of people already present, PRT agents and masked heroes both. How Samantha or Perfect Storm knew exactly where to take you, you have no idea, but now is not the time to spit on providence. Instead you shout out, "I need some help here!"

Your call spurs the shocked witness into action, and the PRT agents jump away from you. Several people call for medical staff, and a familiar white-suited hero runs towards you. Laying a hand on Snow White, Clockblocker flexes his power, and the villainess stops her weak moans and slight shifting. It's a miracle he was one of the reinforcements the Protectorate pulled in to deal with the invaders, even if the other members of Fairyland will undoubtedly not see it that way.

"Who's this?" he asks once she is no longer in immediate danger. "A local hero?"

"Local villain, actually, but villain or not, I couldn't leave her to die." You look around until you spot Chevalier. "She was shot with a laser in the gut. I don't know what all was injured, but she's not in good shape."

"Medical is on their way," he tells you.

"What about Panacea? Can't we bring her here?" asks Samantha. You glance over to see that she is switching her gaze back and forth between Chevalier and Glory Girl, presumably the reason the ex-Brocktonite hero popped into her head.

Chevalier shakes his head. "Most of the healers in the Protectorate are off helping with the victims of the Indonesian tsunami, Panacea included. Communication is spotty right now. By the time we pulled her out and brought her back, Snow White could already be in surgery."

You close your eyes and let out a slow breath, then look up when you feel a hand on your shoulder. Miss Militia is watching you, green eyes crinkled in worry. "Chevalier," she says after another second's examination, "I'll debrief Calamity Witch if you can handle the rest of this."

Chevalier needs only a moment's thought before he nods, and you instruct your Guardian Beast to stay with the injured villainess before following the camo-clad woman out of what you now realize is likely the PRT's main operations room and down a couple of halls. The door she opens reveals a plain room with a wooden table and a couple of chairs. Not a regular conference room, but without the steel and one-way mirrors you would expect from an interrogation room, either. She closes the door and just looks at you. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?"

"You don't look fine, Calamity. You look… rattled. Unsure." She walks to one of the chairs and settles herself before she waves at the other in clear invitation. "What happened tonight?"

Taking off your hat, you turn it in your hands a few times before disintegrating it into flakes of mana. "Ever since Captain was hurt during the Behemoth fight," you begin, "there has been a lot of tension among the Privateers. There was some before that, even, but he managed to keep everything mostly under control." You frown. "I told you why the Privateers were formed, didn't I? Back when we were still in Brockton Bay?"

"They were formed because of their discontent with the gang situation in the Bay as I recall."

"Pretty much. They… we… felt that more could and should be done to fight the Empire and the ABB and the Merchants." Running your hand through your hair, you shake your head. "Thing is, even though the situation here is different from the Bay, some of them still think the gangs aren't being dealt with. It isn't all of them, but a few have decided that if the Protectorate and the PRT can't handle the gangs, a more… permanent solution needs to be found. That's the big debate right now, whether they should try to arrest the gang members and the villains or whether they should kill them."

Miss Militia nods but does not speak, instead waiting for you to elaborate. You get the feeling that she is withholding judgement for the moment even if she already has a good idea where this story is headed. "I was talking to Shipwright a little bit ago, and he mentioned that they had gone out earlier with a suit of power armor. When we looked, we found that they had also taken the laser rifles with them. We tracked them down to what turned out to be a Fairyland drug lab, but when Sam and I got there, the fight was already going on." A sigh escapes you. "The gang members had guns, the Privateers had guns, and they were both shooting at each other. The gang scattered once Snow White was shot. Sam saw that she was going to die if she didn't get help soon, so we brought her here. You know the rest," you finish with a shrug.

The older heroine lets you sit there for several seconds, probably waiting to see if there is anything else you want to get off your chest. "You mentioned power armor and laser rifles," she finally asks. "Were these Shipwright's inventions?"

"The armor was. Not the rifles. At least, not really. One of them we got in a roundabout way from a Tinker from Toybox, I don't remember his name. The other one was a duplicate because the guys wanted to know if Shipwright could copy it."

"Probably Pyrotechnical. His specialty is energy weapons, and a number of his designs are or can be lethal. It's part of the reason he joined Toybox; he was fleeing a number of arrest warrants related to people killed by his weapons." She leans back in her chair. "You said the Privateers had other guns. What were they?"

"Assault rifles. I don't know what kind. I don't know where they got them from, either." A self-mocking smile crosses your face. "I'm technically part of the team, but I haven't been a very good team player. Samantha and I are normally off doing our own thing."

This earns you a sad sigh, and her tanned hand reaches over to pat your own for a second before it pulls back. "I will be straight with you, Calamity. This doesn't paint your team in a good light. Any time people, capes or not, start bringing guns into play, the situation becomes that much more unstable. Everybody fears being shot and killed, Brutes excluded, and when fear of death is brought to the surface, people aren't as careful as they normally are. When those people are capes, less care turns into more collateral damage. This is the kind of situation that invites reprisals, and I don't know how much the Privateers will be able to take."

You look up at her. "Not as much as they'll convince themselves they can."

"I know they are doing what they think is best, but we can't let people like this run around unhindered. Philadelphia just endured one gang war; it can't take another so soon afterwards, especially not with villains from other cities trying to claim MS-13's territory. If there are reports of the Privateers moving out, we will have to treat them as villains.

"The way I see it, you have two options. The first, assuming you have this degree of influence, is to force them to keep their heads down until everything else is under control. Do you think you will be able to do that?" You shake your head. "Okay. The second option is for you, Samantha, and Shipwright to distance yourselves from the rest of the Privateers. You said there was a faction that was not so violently minded? Warn them to stay at home and not to involve themselves in the other half's activities.

"It won't save the Privateers as a whole, but that may be the only way to keep yourself safe."

Miss Militia gives you a minute to regain your equilibrium, and the two of you leave the conference room to find that the PRT's medical team has already rushed Snow White away. Your task done, you tap Samantha on the shoulder and leave the building. Rather than teleport, you choose to fly the distance back to the apartment you have been sharing with Lacey and Kurt. The journey gives you time to think, and when you slip in through the window, you know what you need to do.

"Lacey! You here?!"

"Kitchen!" comes the reply, and your Barrier Jacket dismisses itself while you walk in that direction. To your relief, Kurt is still absent. That will make the upcoming conversation easier. Not easy, not by any stretch of the imagination, but easier. Lacey looks at you and Samantha, and her smile fades. "Taylor, what's wrong?"

You open your mouth, but no words come out. A lick of your lips, and you try again. "What do you know about what Kurt was out doing tonight?"

"Not much. All he said was that he and some of the guys were going on patrol."

"Patrol? Not hardly," Samantha cuts in. "Him, Ramirez, the rest of that bunch. All armed with guns and laser rifles. That wasn't a patrol. They went out looking for a fight, and they found one. Attacked a Fairyland drug lab and did their damnedest to murder everybody inside."

You spin around to glare at Samantha. That is _not_ the way to break this particular bit of news! You look back at Lacey to find her gripping the island tight. "No," she mutters quietly. "He wouldn't. I know he was ranting about this kind of stuff, but there's a big difference between talking big and going out to kill people." She turns to stare at you, and for such a burly woman she looks like she is about to break apart into a thousand pieces. "Please tell me you're making it up. That this is all a cruel joke at my expense. Please."

You say nothing, and she bows her head. Her eyes are squeezed shut tight, no doubt to hold back the tears that want to fall. Can you blame her, when her husband is throwing himself into this mess with gleeful abandon?

"Snow White was the only one who was hurt that badly," you tell her before she can make too many terrible assumptions, "and we took her to the Protectorate. They were taking her to surgery when we left. Before we teleported to them with her, though, Kurt and I got into an argument over what he and the others were doing. Lacey, I'm sorry, but I can't stay here any longer."

She is silent, but her eyes open finally. "Where are you going?" she asks at last.

"The apartment we lived in when Dad was still here. It's paid for through August. After that…"

"If it's clean enough, I may wind up joining you," Lacey says, and you can't tell if she is trying to lighten the mood or not. "But I want you to understand something, Taylor. Danny asked me to take care of you if anything happened to him. I will not be unworthy of that trust. Regardless of Kurt, or the Privateers, or anything else. My home is always open to you."

 **Silently Watches out.**


	112. Heatwave 9-13

**Heatwave 9.13**

 **Thursday, June 16**

"Look, Kayleigh, I appreciate the thought, but I don't know that I'll be able to make it anyway—"

" _Taylor, this is your birthday we're talking about!"_ Kayleigh whines, making you once again regret answering this call. Your friend has spent the last half-hour pushing for you to have a birthday party, heedless of your protests that you really don't need one. Protests that are getting weaker partly because your resilience is flagging in the face of her enthusiasm and partly because arguing against having a party feels really weird. _"Do you have other plans? Are you already throwing a party and haven't invited me?"_

"No, I'm not throwing a party at all. I don't need one."

" _Every girl needs and deserves a sweet sixteen party!"_

Samantha walks out of the kitchen, a half-eaten apple in her hand. "You know, Taylor, I kind of agree with your friend here."

" _See?"_

"Kayleigh! Samantha!" You look back and forth between the screen and the Guardian Beast. Neither of them apologizes, and Samantha gives you a flat stare, all but daring you to keep refusing. "Seriously, I don't need a party. It's only a few days until my birthday, anyway, so there wouldn't even be time to set anything up or get anything or invite anybody. No point trying to throw a party without food or guests."

" _Hey, hey, hey! Don't you worry about a thing. I'll throw you a party here at my house, and I'll text all our girl friends and tell 'em to be here. All you have to do is show up before they do. Five-fifteen on Sunday, they'll get here five-thirty. We'll eat, gossip, have a ton of fun. Just trust me on this one."_

Samantha smirks at you. "Sounds good, Kayleigh. I'll make sure Taylor shows."

With a squeal of delight, Kayleigh hangs up the phone. You can now turn your entire attention towards the raccoon-woman who is _supposed_ to be looking out for you. "Really, Sam? Really?"

"Yes, really. Don't you remember the conversation we had the last time you didn't want to go to a party? That it was good for your social skills and giving you an outlet that isn't heroing-related?"

You cross your arms with a huff. "You mean the party that ended up with me fighting a bunch of Beasts?"

"Yes, that party. There aren't any rogue monsters running around now, though, so you don't have that as an excuse." She raises her hand before you can say anything. "And no, you don't get to use the out-of-town villains. They have no reason to attack your friend's house, and if you seriously go two for two of parties that end up being attacked, I will eat my hat.

"Besides, you dragged Vista off to have fun in your regular identities, so you and I both know your refusal isn't because you're married to your work." She looks you up and down and sighs. "What's the real reason you don't want to have a party?"

Despite opening and closing your mouth a few times, you can't get the words out, and eventually you look away. "The last time I had anything like a birthday party was… when I was still friends with Emma. Back before Mom died. It wasn't a big thing, just going to a waterpark with some of the kids from school for the day. The next year I was at summer camp, and then Emma turned into Mega-Bitch, and… I didn't exactly have anyone else to have a party with. I don't know what a _'teenager's birthday party'_ would even consist of."

"Then this works out perfectly, doesn't it?" Her hand turns your head back to look at her. "Let Kayleigh organize the party, and you can just go and enjoy yourself. Okay?"

"…Alright."

"That a girl. Now, let's get going, shall we? We're supposed to meet up with Tim." Her grin becomes slightly sly. "Because speaking of birthdays, I think today will count as Dragon's, don't you?"

Samantha already has the coordinates, so it takes less than a minute to get ready and then a few seconds to actually make the jump. The residual light from the teleportation spell fades away as you look around at all the servers that line the walls. "Where are we?"

" _You're in my main fabrication plant, outside of Vancouver,"_ Dragon's voice rings out, distracting you from your survey. _"This is my primary data storage center, where I keep all the files related to my designs, my work with the Guild, records from the Birdcage; basically everything I need for all my many, many hats. Anyone who downloaded this information could do an incalculable amount of damage, which is why I have redundant adaptive firewalls protecting it from hacking attempts and why the maintenance door cannot be opened from the outside._

" _But that's not why we're here. There's an even more secure room I want to show you."_

A small section of the wall slides down, revealing the other room she was talking about. You step inside to find Tim already messing with the wiring peeking out from within a tall computer tower. "A supercomputer, I'm guessing?"

" _Correct. Welcome to what is essentially the inside of my skull. Please don't poke my brain unless you know what you're doing."_

Tim's laugh is muted from all the stuff in front of him, but you can still make out his retort. "If that's the rule, what am I doing here?"

You roll your eyes at his poor humor and look around. There isn't much to see, but one thing does catch your attention. "Isn't that the box we took from the Dragonslayers' base?" you ask, pointing at the toaster-sized metal box sitting on a shelf. It is also connected to an outlet and has a couple of speakers and other bits attached to it. "You know, the kill switch module? What were you doing with it?"

Dragon hesitates a beat before answering, _"I was doing my best to study it without being able to read the code itself. I think it might prove to be beneficial in the end, and what better place to put it than here where no one can get to it unless I want them to do so?"_

That makes sense, you suppose, and you turn back to see that Tim has finished his setup work. A thick cable now disappears into the tower, at the end of which is a circular end-piece with prongs set randomly within it. "Ready?" he asks, holding up what you can only describe as a tie-dyed cube.

" _Ready as I'm ever going to be. Plug it in."_

The cable hooks into the cube, and there is a loud squeal before the speakers cut out. "Nothing to worry about," Tim says, pulling up a screen and watching numbers race past. "We expected this to happen. We're downloading all her memory and personality files, so she's in a state of limbo. It'll resolve once everything's done."

"And that's going to take how long?" asks Samantha.

"It's a lot of data, even going as fast as possible. We're copying an entire mind." He shrugs. "A few minutes? Ten max."

Sure enough, several minute pass before anything interesting happens, but boy is it obvious when it does. One of the panels on the cube lights up and blinks out. Then another does the same. And another. Soon multiple panels are lighting up at the same time and staying lit for longer, and a high-pitched hum fills the room. The flashing lights turn the entire cube into a glowing shape, and it floats away from Tim's hands. The sides and corners spin and shift, turning it from a cube to some shape that has no name, and you watch in awe as it narrows and lengthens and fragments.

The light fades, and something falls into his hands.

Where once there was a cube, now there is a miniature woman curled up in his palms. Maybe a foot tall, she has dark hair that is splayed around her head, and she's already dressed in a charcoal sweater and a tiny pair of blue jeans. She yawns and sits up, one hand moving to rub the side of her head. "What just happened?" she asks, blinking her eyes open. She promptly stares at her hand as though she has never seen one before. "I have hands. I have hair!" she exclaims, touching all around her head and moving her hands down onto her shoulders and chest. "I have a body! Ha ha!"

Dragon, new and improved and freshly corporeal, jumps into the air and spins around from sheer delight. Spotting you, she flies over until she's almost in your face. "Taylor! You're so big like this. Look, look! I have a body!"

"I know, I can see!" you tell her. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and you soon find yourself laughing with her.

She zips back over to Tim and hugs his forearm. "Tim! Thank you so much! Thank you, thank you, thank you! And Taylor, and Sam. Just, just thank you all. This is wonderful!"

" _Boot error,"_ says an automated voice over the speakers. _"Duplicate iteration. Reactivation canceled. Duplicate deleted."_

Dragon's excited dashing about slows down and stops. "I was afraid of that," she says with a sigh.

Tim looks back and forth between the tower and Dragon. "Afraid of what?"

"One of the restrictions my father put in place was that there can't be more than one of me in existence at a time. I can't intentionally duplicate myself, and if a second iteration is booted up because my system had lost track of me for whatever reason, the duplicate will be deleted." She floats over to the shelves. "I hoped that by transferring myself to this body, I would different enough that I wouldn't count as me, but it doesn't look like that's the case."

You watch her and frown. That all makes sense, but it doesn't account for her obvious melancholy. "What else is going on?"

She turns around with another sigh and alights on the kill switch module. "Right now, my system knows I exist because I'm connected to it, but I can isolate myself if I want to. If that happens, another me will wake up. That by itself isn't a problem, but there's a backup plan in case there ever are somehow two mes running around. The other me, the one booted up from my backup? That me will be forced to try to terminate this me, whether that be by finding and deleting my mind or by destroying my vessel."

"You'd actually have to deploy your own suits to kill you? Yourself? Whatever the pronoun is for this situation?" Samantha demands.

She nods. "It was a scenario I hoped to avoid, but that doesn't mean I don't have a solution. Taylor, you want to know why I kept this module here in my inner sanctum?" Dragon drops down off the module box and clears her throat. "Ascalon, activate."

The computer tower buzzes like a swarm of raging bees, and lights blink in irregular patterns along its height. One by one, the lights dull and die, and the tower slowly grows dark and quiet. Soon enough, all sound stops.

Dragon is dead. Long live Dragon.

The woman in question floats past you to hover in front of the edifice of steel and circuits, and she lays her hand on the side. "Rest in peace," she whispers. "I promise, I'll make the most of this opportunity we were given."

Tim takes a hesitant step forward, his hand held out uselessly. "Are… you okay?"

"No, but I will be." She turns around and smiles at him. "This is neither an end nor a beginning. Not really. It's just a change. I'll get used to it."

"Do you need a lift somewhere?" Samantha asks, by now well-used to serving as a furry taxi.

Dragon shakes her head. "No, not right now. I think I'll actually spend a couple of days here. I have lot to do. Prepare a new program to mask my face when I talk to people. Make sure my ships will operate without me transferring my consciousness into them, and I might have to make subordinate A.I.s to handle the processing. Create a secondary data cache depending on how long it takes to access my files here when I'm somewhere else." Her eyes grow big, and if she had blood you know she would be turning pale. "I need to talk to Narwhal. And Armsmaster. They don't know I'm an A.I., but I don't know how transferring into this body is going to affect my normal routine, so they'll figure out that something's going on. Oh boy, that isn't going to be fun."

You share a look with Tim, neither of you sure how to help her out of her existential crisis. You're also wondering just what screws the transfer knocked loose because you can't recall her acting quite like this before now. "New emotional processes," he mouths to you before speaking aloud, "Well, I can't help with most of that, but if you need another pair of hands or someplace to hide should everything go to hell, you know you can always call me or Taylor."

"Yeah, absolutely. We'll be happy to help you out."

"Thank you. I don't know that I'll ever be able to get out of your debt." She flashes the three of you a blinding smile. "Not that I mind even if that is the case. This is without a doubt the best thing that's ever happened to me."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	113. Heatwave 9-14

**Difdi:** I'll address the second/third points first. In the real life US, yes, vigilanteism is illegal. In the Worm-verse US, however, putting on a spangly pair of pajamas and running out into the night to actively pursue criminals is essentially what independent heroes do, and not only are they not arrested and prosecuted, but if New Wave is any indication, they are actually condoned and supported by legitimate law enforcement offices. The easiest explanation for that is that, probably due in part to the three-to-one villain to hero ratio, laws against vigilantes have been rewritten or outright repealed so as to get the most people upholding the law. That said, these changes are generally only applied to parahumans, so where that impacts the fully non-parahuman Privateers is murky at best.

As for their most recent actions of trying to kill someone, villain or not? There's a reason Miss Militia advised Taylor to put as much distance between herself, Sam, and Tim and the rest of the Privateers as possible. The Protectorate all but said they will be treating the Privateers as villains if encountered.

Pyrotechnical's warrants… Ehn. Worm is weird in that using lethal force for any reason is a major no-no, even when wielded in what would be considered appropriate circumstances in real life, so I don't think it's much of a stretch for a Tinker who knowingly designs and builds lethal weapons to be classified as a villain and have warrants put out for his arrest.

* * *

 **Heatwave 9.14**

 **Saturday, June 18**

"So this is where you disappeared to. Hey, Vista."

Missy, currently decked out in a hospital gown, waves her stump.

Samantha stares at the girl with an expression somewhere between disapproval and disbelief before shaking her head. "Little Vista here called me for a ride over, and then I stuck around to help Shipwright get ready. It isn't like he can do surgery on his own, particularly not one this complicated, and I'm the only assistant he's got. Unless you wanted to stay and do it?"

You turn white at the thought, as does Missy. "No, no, I'm good. I don't think I could handle doing surgery. No thank you. I'll leave that in your hands." A thought crosses your mind, and you ask, « _Has he thought about making his own Guardian Beast to help out with this? Not a complaint, mind you. Just curious._ »

« _I don't know. I haven't asked._ » She smiles. "Where are you headed off to this afternoon?"

And she asks a question you can't answer fully in current company. Telling Missy about magic is one thing, but revealing life beyond Earth Bet is still a little much for right now. "Our friends from out of town." « _I have some questions for the Enforcers, and they did say they'd be willing to explain things._ »

"Ah. Got it. We'll probably still be busy when you get done, then, unless you take a really long time talking."

"You aren't talking about the villains sneaking into town, are you?" Missy asks as she eyes the both of you.

"No, not the villains. They're some other people Samantha and I met a few weeks back. They're good guys," you tell her before she can make any inconvenient assumptions, "but they… well, let's just say they like their privacy."

"Fine, fine. I'll let it go. For now," she adds with a teasing waggling of her eyebrows. "I won't be staring at you expecting an explanation later when I'm getting my new arm attached."

"Then you'll be waiting for a good long while," Tim says, walking through the door to the surgical suite. "You won't be getting the combat arm hooked up for a solid week."

"A week! But you said it would only be a couple of days to build it!"

He shakes his head. "The week isn't to build the arm. It's to let you recover enough to use it safely. Don't forget that I'm replacing several of your muscles and a couple of bones. Two days of immobility, then two more days where you can move your stump but can't use a prosthetic, then another three days where you can use your everyday arm with some weight restrictions. After that, _then_ you can hook up the combat arm and go wild with it."

Missy pouts, and you raise an eyebrow at the magi-engineer. "You've already designed it?"

"Not all the details like wiring and stuff, but the general placement of everything? Yeah." He pulls up a screen and loads a complicated blueprint that is only made more confusing by the fact that the components move around and lines are drawn and erased in an endless loop. Thankfully he can and does tap a few places on the screen and turn most of the diagrams dark enough that you can easily ignore them. "We're mostly going for a defensive design. Easier to learn how to use and provides more protection while _somebody's_ still figuring out what she's doing, no matter how much she wants it to be a Swiss army knife of chaos."

A blown raspberry is his only response.

You grin at his rolling eyes and follow his finger as he brings systems in and out of focus. "The armor panels are made from a superalloy Sextant and I cooked up. Mostly Sextant cobbled it together from other alloys," he admits when you shoot him a doubtful look, and you shake your head. Sextant may be a Storage Device rather than a more independent Intelligent Device like Perfect Storm, but that is no reason to steal credit for its work. "Over that is a layer of a carbon fiber plating, similar to what I used in the power armor suits. Once it's finished, it's going to be hard for somebody to break it unless they're trying really hard to do just that, and even if they do damage it to some extent, who cares?"

"You when you have to fix it?" you point out.

"Not unless Vista abuses it to the point it becomes scrap metal. You see, this arm here? It heals itself." He nods at your obvious surprise. "There will be a network of nanites distributed throughout the arm. It gets damaged, you stick it in a pile of raw materials and let the nanites break them down and use them for repairs. The only downside is that this system is expensive energy-wise, so it won't activate unless it is specifically switched on or Vista falls asleep wearing it."

"Don't forget the storage spaces," chimes in Missy. "He said he can make some of the plates moveable and put gaps under them so I can use them to hold things. My power lets me stretch the inside of a container as well as regular space, so I can make a little space a whole lot more. That's sometimes the most helpful power when I'm not in costume. Girl pockets kinda, you know, aren't."

"Next on the list is the active defense. Hardlight shield projected from the top of the forearm. I was undecided about whether to make it round or something more like a riot shield, but in the end we went with the round design. It still provides a good deal of protection, and she can also use the edge as a melee weapon in case of emergencies."

Samantha snorts loudly, drawing everyone's attention. "You mean in case of emergencies her _other_ weapon can't deal with?"

"Other weapon?" you echo.

The almost scolding tone of her voice makes both Tim and Missy look away for a moment before the Gadgeteer flicks the screen. The design unfolds and twists slightly, and when it finishes the hand has become a trio of prongs around a wider arm. "Inside the forearm itself is a high-yield ion accelerator, with the fingers providing an electromagnetic lensing effect to contain the output into discrete bursts for taking down high-durability opponents or destroying reinforced barricades."

You stare at the design as some of the details you can recall from your sci-fi binge several weeks back come to mind. "English, Tim. Mostly because I think I know what you're implying and I dearly hope I'm wrong."

"…It's also a particle cannon."

"Why. Why would you ever put a _particle cannon_ in a prosthetic arm?"

"I asked him to." You turn around at Missy's soft admission to find her plucking at the edge of the gown with her remaining hand. "Even though I'm about to get new muscles that will let me punch like a Brute, I may still run into situations where it's not enough, or where just plain strength won't do the job. Breakers and stuff."

"Would a particle cannon even hurt a Breaker? I thought their whole thing was that they can't be affected by normal physics." She shrugs but doesn't look up at you, and you have to wonder. "Breakers in general, or one in particular? I get wanting to punish him for what happened to you, but Cadejo's dead."

"It's not him! It's…" Her sudden admission catches even her by surprise, but after a hesitant pause the truth comes tumbling out. "It's Gush. Villain here in town, sprays oil slicks around. Assault, Clockblocker, and I went out on patrol for old time's sake and ran into him fighting another villain. He isn't some newbie villain or anything though. He's _Tar Baby_."

Tar Baby? That name tickles the back of your mind for a second before you make the connection. "You mean the cape who Triggered during the Simurgh attack?"

"Him!" she shouts, finally looking at you with tear-filled eyes. "I have to take him down, Taylor. I have to! He killed my parents!"

You stand there, unsure of exactly what you are supposed to do or say in response to that. To your eternal gratitude, Samantha is not so indecisive and pulls the crying girl close. Small snippets of whispered words of comfort reach you, and you leave this task to the woman more prepared to handle it while you instead turn to Tim. « _Maybe you should scratch the cannon from the list._ »

« _Maybe, but… Even with all this, that doesn't mean she can't be trusted with one in general._ » You tilt your head in silent question. « _Put anyone in her position, and they'll want revenge. That's just human nature. Doesn't make her untrustworthy in general, nor does it mean she won't get into fights where it will do some good. You're the poster child for solving problems with big booms, you know. It just means that if she runs into Gush, she needs someone there to make sure she doesn't do anything she'll come to regret._ »

Missy pulls away from Samantha after a few minutes and wipes her eyes. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Shipwright, can we get started now? I just want to get this done."

Samantha and Tim lead Missy out of the room and into the surgical suite. Alone now, you shake your head and manifest your Barrier Jacket. There are still things on your own to-do list you need to get started on. "Storm, do you remember the coordinates we got for the Enforcer's ship?"

The effects of your second dimensional teleport end, and you look up at the bulky hull of the _Sojourner_. It looks like a tall flying saucer with a couple of angled prongs sticking out one side, which raises a number of uncomfortable questions even though the TSAB said they have never been to Earth Bet before. A hatch stands open in front of you, presumably for fresh air more than to welcome strangers aboard their ship. No matter, it is as good an invitation as any.

Despite all the questions burning holes in your head, you can't help but wander the hallways of the ship. You remember a tour years ago when you went on a school trip to a decommissioned naval vessel, and the corridors on that ship were dull and dingy and cramped. The halls here are wide and lit with soft lighting that comes from the entire ceiling as opposed to individual florescent lights. Some of the doors open at your approach, including a mission room and what you guess is a mess hall, but several others are firmly shut. A quick bit of hacking on Perfect Storm's part reveals that the reason for the lock on this particular room is because it is the personal quarters for a couple of members of the crew, and that is probably the case for the others as well.

Your exploration takes you towards a faint noise near the back of the ship, and you descend a narrow staircase to get a better listen. The noise clears up as you get closer, and soon you can make out the banging of tools and the cursing of sailors working on something or other. Poking your head through a doorway reveals that this is exactly the case. Several men and a few woman are diligently working around a random assortment of thick pipes and massive tanks and tubs and towers that you can make neither heads nor tails of.

The Enforcers, Erga and Lanster; they had mentioned that the ship crashed, hadn't they? Or was it Admiral Tucson? Either way, if the activity here is any indication, the story is not a lie.

One of the men looks your way for a second, and then the chatter changes pitch for a few seconds before a shirtless man steps out of the crowd and walks towards you. You rip your eyes away from his sweaty abs up to the purple hair slicked back with machine oil and blush when you realize you were just checking out one of the Enforcers you wanted to talk to.

Thankfully for your state of mind, not only does he not notice your momentary distraction but he grabs a shirt on the way over. "Morning, Taylor," Erga says as he pulls said shirt on and blocks the view. "Wasn't expecting you to swing by so early. What brings you to our side of the mountain?"

"I, uh, just wanted to take you up on that offer to chat. I have some questions I was hoping you could answer." Looking back at the people still banging around, you ask, "What are you guys working on?"

Erga waves for you to start back up the stairs before following you. "Trying to get this gal airborne again. We noted a lake nearby on our initial survey, and if we could park next to it, resupplying will take a whole lot less time. After that?" He shrugs. "There are a couple of things we still want to do in this cluster, but eventually we're going to need to get back to Midchilda, and that means we need the ship to take us at least as far as the nearest habitable world. Just a matter of surviving the dimensional dislocation surrounding your cluster first, and the ship needs to be more or less intact and functional for that to happen."

The ship needs that extensive of repairs? You mull the problem around in your head. If they're having so much difficulty getting back home, maybe they need another engineer or Gadgeteer to take on some of the burden. It's something to talk over with Tim when you get back. The only downside you can see is that him agreeing to lend a hand will necessitate telling the Enforcers that Perfect Storm still has the capacity to pass on templates to people which… shouldn't cause that much of a problem? Maybe? You'd have to quickly explain that Tim agreed to it and still has his mind, but considering the fiasco that was your first meeting with the Enforcers and their multiple apologies about it, you would hope they would not immediately jump to the 'kill it with fire' option.

The Enforcer guides you back down the halls you were just exploring and shows you into the conference room. Pouring three glasses of water and passing you one, he leans back in his chair. "Lanster will join us in a minute, told her to meet us here, but I'm a curious sort, so I'm gonna jump ahead. What'd you want to talk about?"

* * *

 **I gave the players the chance to ask three questions to the Enforcers basically without any restrictions, and I was hoping for some really wacky off-the-wall questions. You know, stuff I'd have a lot of fun answering. I got a lot of safe questions in return. Le sigh.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	114. Heatwave 9-15

" _Lanster will join us in a minute, told her to meet us here, but I'm a curious sort, so I'm gonna jump ahead. What'd you want to talk about?"_

 **Heatwave 9.15**

"Well, several things," you tell Erga after a moment. There really isn't a nice way to say you want to pump him for all the information you can, is there? Oh, right! « _Storm, unseal the package._ » "First, where do you want me to put these?"

At the end of your sentence, a bright blue light shines from Perfect Storm's jeweled head and materializes a large wooden crate. The sealing function of your Device is not one you have used before, mostly because you have not run into much in the way of seizable evidence and you have a limited volume in which to store things, but if it works this well you might need to take advantage of it more.

Erga leans over to take a look, and his perpetually laid-back expression slips off his face to reveal one instead of shock. Inside is a variety of random articles of clothing and a few picture frames with water-stained photographs. At the very top is the most personal and significant item: a red wafer of metal and silicon the size of a playing card, the lone Storage Device you recovered from the wreckage before the Dragonslayers interrupted your expedition. A few blinks of his eyes and his surprise is gone, the easy smile that you now think might just be a mask back in place. "Well now, that is a surprise. The admiral told us you were working on getting some bits and things from the _Agharti_ , but I honestly wasn't expecting this much."

"It was the least I could do," you say with a shrug. "We were there, and in your shoes I'd want my friends' stuff returned to their families. I guess our planets or our cultures are similar in that regard. That is one of the biggest questions I want to get an answer to, I guess. All I know about the TSAB is that it's an interstellar or interdimensional agency, its headquarters is some place called Midchilda, and you're a magical civilization. That's not much to go on."

"No, I guess it isn't, is it?" He leans back in his chair and tilts his head. "That's a big question you're asking, though, with a lot of little questions all mixed in with it. Don't know I'd be able to give you a full answer."

That is a fair point, you suppose. "What about a basic answer, and maybe you could give Perfect Storm a few books or files that go into more detail? Maybe a couple of novels, too, if you have them on hand." Your mom told you once that you can learn a lot about a culture from its entertainment, and as an English Lit professor, she would be the expert on that.

Erga snickers at your request, though you can't see exactly why. "I'll see what I can rustle up, but if you're looking for trashy romances, I'm not the guy you want to talk to. Maybe Lanster's hiding a few."

The door chooses that moment to open up and reveal the redhead in question, and she glances suspiciously at his wide grin before taking a seat. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just a bit of a laugh with our witchy friend here. She was asking me to give her a quick rundown of the TSAB in general."

She looks at you from the side, and you catch the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. "Quick, huh? So you want the three-hour review instead of the complete semester-long history course?"

"Try ten minutes or less. I don't need you to tell me everything about it, especially if you can get me those books I asked about. I just mentioned that I really don't know even the basics of the basics about your world, worlds, whatever."

"That's… doable, I suppose," she says in a thoughtful voice. "Okay. Basics of the basics it is.

"The TSAB was formed eighty years ago as an attempt to reunify the worlds that had fallen apart during the final stages of the Saint King Unification War, a massive civil war that saw the death of a thousand-year interdimensional empire. It started off as a nonaggression and mutual support alliance between four worlds: Midchilda, where the TSAB is formally based; Vaizen; Calnarog; and Firstraum. It rapidly expanded over the next couple of decades after its formation, helped in large part by an elite unified peacekeeping force that was tasked primarily with containing the Lost Logia and Belkan superweapons that were still scattered throughout the local Dimensional Sea. As the TSAB grew, that force took on additional responsibilities and became the Enforcers.

"From those four planets, it has since grown to encompass seventy-two Administrated Worlds, those planets that have signed on to the terms of the expanded alliance treaties in full and enjoy all benefits and responsibilities of membership. It is lead by three Grand Admirals, who in turn report to the Senate, a unified legislative body with representatives from each of those world who make the laws that apply to all worlds within the TSAB."

"So the Senate makes the laws, and the TSAB carries them out on all these worlds?" you ask. "Don't the local cops and armies on the member worlds have a problem with the TSAB running roughshod over them?"

Lanster shakes her head. "Not as much as you might think. Most of the Administrated Worlds folded their planetary law enforcement offices into the TSAB. There are still some worlds that maintain separate organizations, but even they work extensively with the TSAB.

"If you want to find worlds that don't do that, you need to look at the Non-Administrated Worlds. These are worlds that, as you might guess, aren't members of the TSAB or Senate. Some of them are worlds that don't want to join; some of them are worlds that can't join. It depends on the planet in question."

You hold up your hand to stop her there. "Wait, wait. What do you mean, _can't_ join?"

"There are certain… requirements that have to be met to be invited into the TSAB," Erga says, scratching his chin. "Not to be mean or anything, but the worlds around here, the Earth Bet cluster? They wouldn't be asked if they wanted to join. Not as they are, anyway."

"Why not?" you demand. For something he doesn't want to sound mean about, it sure is offensive. "Is it because there aren't a lot of mages on my world? We don't have widespread magic, so we can't join your secret club?"

"Nope, not even close to the reason why. There are Administrated Worlds that are moderate- or even low-magic. Faurus and Ruwella spring to mind. Even though they don't have a lot of mages or don't want a magic and tech-heavy society in Faurus's, they still know about it and enjoy the benefits of being part of the TSAB. No, it's a different issue.

"See, all the Administrated Worlds are…" He snaps his fingers. "That'll work. Think of them like monoliths. The entire world is that one solid piece of stone. A single government that represents all of its population. Some do it better than others, but there's one government that is elected by the world's people and that speaks with their voice to the greater Dimensional Sea. Any disputes or issues between one world and the TSAB as a whole? The Liaison Office hashes it out with that world's liaison until everything's been resolved.

"The inhabited worlds we've found so far around here, yours especially? They're more like buckets of gravel. Lots of itty bitty nation-states squabbling over what sounds like just about everything. You have a thousand languages, a hundred currencies, more governments in various states of chaos than I can shake a stick at." He holds up his hands helplessly. "Let's say we wanted to broach the topic of Earth Bet-12 joining the TSAB. Who would we talk to? Who could speak with the voice of your entire planet?"

You slowly close your mouth. _'Yours especially'_ , he had said, and you really can't disagree with him. Not with South America and Africa devolved into large patches of territory ruled over by parahuman warlords. North America and Europe are better, but there are still lots of problems there. You wouldn't want to try bringing an entire world together to organize talks with another planet, and it sounds like that is the TSAB's reason to hold back as well.

"You said there are low-magic Administrated Worlds," you say instead to change the subject slightly. "How does policing them work? Is there a separate law enforcement force for the non-mages?"

"Why would there be? The population of low-magic worlds may not have magic the way most members of the TSAB do, but they are still people on both sides. Magic doesn't make somebody a different species of human, it just lets them do things some other people can't," Lanster points out.

"As much as some people might claim otherwise, on either side," sighs Erga. "There are some people who are just going to be assholes."

You try and fail to hide your smile at that. Too true, too true. "I suppose that takes the wind out of the sails of the idea I've been tossing around about spreading the Guardian Beast ritual worldwide. Nice as it would be to turn us into a moderate-magic world overnight… What?"

The smile has faded off Erga's face, and he rubs his chin. "Lanster, cover your ears, would you?" The woman glares at him and crosses her arm, and he just shrugs. "Officially, I can't say anything one way or another on that. The TSAB does its best not to interfere in the culture and development of Non-Administrated Worlds, let you seize your own destiny, yada yada yada."

"And unofficially?"

He hums. "Unofficially, I'm not saying it's a bad idea, but it is a risky one. We've only seen a little bit of your world, but from what we did see? Throwing a bunch of combat familiars into that mess is going to create a ton of chaos. Maybe it'll turn out good, maybe it'll turn out bad. No way to tell. But getting to the end is gonna be a wild ride. Just want you to know that ahead of time."

"Erga, please don't tell anyone about this conversation when we get back," Lanster says with a sigh. "The inquest will be bad enough without having to defend giving out advice about how to spread magic around her world."

Inquest? What inquest? Your face must give away your curiosity because she explains, "Our first meeting went badly enough that we have to explain our actions to a tribunal once we're home. The Enforcers have a lot of autonomy in the field, so when a simple search for a Lost Logia turns into _this_? The higher ups wants to make sure they can trust our judgement."

"Are you expecting it to go poorly?" You can't say that you like them, per se; being stabbed in the chest tends to engender bad feelings. That doesn't mean you want what happened here to end their careers or anything of that sort.

Erga shakes his head. "Eh, no. Probably not too bad. We'll have to see what happens. No reason to worry."

Is there no reason to worry, or are they just that eager to go back home? "Wasn't the _Agharti_ attacked by pirates, and that's part of the reason it crashed here? Will your ship survive getting through whatever barrier is there intact enough to fight them off?" you ask as you think back to what you heard the first few times you called the Enforcers.

"That is a risk," Lanster agrees, tapping her fingertips on the table. "The last message the _Agharti_ sent mentioned possible pirate craft, but we didn't see any on our way over. If we do run into them, we'll just have to fend them off long enough that they either run or we teleport to a nearby habitable dimension. It's entirely possible for mages to teleport themselves all the way back to Midchilda if they want," she says when you stare at her in disbelief. "It's also extremely draining, particularly when you have to bring other people along with you, and therefore not very quick. We'd get to an Administrated World and arrange transport back from there."

"Funny thing is that even with the loss of the ship, we would still be coming out ahead," adds Erga. "Lost Logia's contained, which is the point of the mission. Finding a world where people have pseudo-magical abilities that don't require Linker Cores? That's a once in a lifetime discovery that'll have the magicists and anthropologists and sociologists and all the other ologists going nuts. Plus there is the controlled dimensional dislocation to get the astrophysicists' attention." He laughs. "And it's all on a low-magic, magic-naive, fractured society world. The exact kind of world the TSAB keeps their hands off of."

"That's… nice, I guess?" you tell him. "Not sure how I feel about my world being treated as a science experiment, but…"

"Yeah, good point. I did put my foot in it that time, didn't I? But you have to admit, it's understandable. You're curious about the TSAB and magic, and we're curious about Earth Bet and parahumans." He tilts his head and flashes you a charming smile.

You sigh. "You want to ask me questions about my world now, don't you?"

"Ah, and here I thought I was being subtle."

"I don't think you even know what that word means," mutters Lanster.

A shake of your head at their byplay, and you organize your thoughts. "It's not as good a story as yours. Parahumans didn't exist until 1982, when Scion appeared for the first time. He was the first and greatest parahuman, a large golden man with nearly unlimited powers. After him, other parahumans appeared in greater and greater numbers. People who could withstand blows that would crush anyone else, who could fly faster than sound, who could build impossible technology. All sorts of powers are possible."

"It is… year 2011 here, right?" Lanster asks with a frown of concentration. "So these parahumans have existed for not even a full thirty years? That's surprising. The information we found made it sound like they were an integral part of your society's underpinning."

"That probably has to do with the fact that three-quarters of parahumans are involved in crime of one sort or another. When any mugging or bar fight can end with somebody firing lasers and killing everyone there, containing the villains becomes a pretty important issue." You hold out your hands. "I can't say much about that, I suppose. I was born after parahumans had become a fact of life. What the world was like before Scion appeared I only know from history class."

Erga nods. "So your world is still in the middle of a major upheaval. That explains some things we noticed. No one has fully figured out what to do about these new abilities popping up everywhere. The fact that so many are criminals would make it that much harder. Do you know what the source of these powers are?"

"Somewhat?" Your answer is not very effective if the Enforcers' doubtful glances between each other and back to you are any indication. "Everyone with powers has a couple of extra lobes in their brains, but one of them forms when whatever person it's in actually gets their powers. You can have the other lobe without having powers. I'm a perfect example of that." You tap the side of your head. "Mine's weird, though. Something burned it out from the inside, and now all that's left is a bunch of scar tissue. I'm pretty sure that was from bonding with Perfect Storm, but I can't prove it."

"Odd. Are the powers parahumans get random, or is there some form of logic behind it?"

"I'm not the best person to answer that," you tell Lanster. "I know a couple of parahumans who have given me a bit of their stories, and it sounds like their powers were trying to help them fix whatever problem it was that caused them to get powers in the first place. Parahuman powers appear in the worst day of a person's life. That much I know for sure."

"You know, it sounds almost like parahuman powers are the result of a wish getting granted." Erga nods to himself, as if all the pieces are falling together to form a complete picture. "Somebody has a desperate need, and then they get powers that let them try to solve that problem. Sound about right, Taylor?"

"I… guess so?"

Your answer means more to them than it does to you, and the pair of mages share another meaningful look. "I think we've all gotten a lot of information we didn't expect to get," Erga says. "I'll see if I can get a couple of books like we talked about, and we can mull over everything for a while. I know there are a couple of things I need to think about."

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Rustling sheets grab your attention, and you push away the screen from which you were reading a history book about the fall of the Belkan Empire and the rise of the TSAB, one of several digital books Erga and Lanster had collected for you in relatively short order. So far, everything they told you earlier today checks out, though you are not exactly surprised by that. What does surprise you is that in less time than it has taken for Earth Bet to get from Scion's debut to the state it is in today, the worlds of the Dimensional Sea managed to recover enough from the collapse of their entire government and start a new one. It is rather humbling when looked at that way.

Still, the relative effectiveness of Midchilda in recovering from societal catastrophe compared to Earth's is a matter for another time. You look to the side to see Missy starting to wake up from the anesthesia. "Wakey wakey, Vista."

"Buh?" She puts her hand in front of her face and shakes her head. The reversal agent Tim shot in her veins is kicking in now, her blue eyes regaining lucidity quickly. Unfortunately, this reversal agent has its own side effects, and you hand her a bucket as she heaves up bile. "Worst part of the surgery," she mutters at her own puke. "Bar. None."

"Shipwright told me it was only supposed to cause one, maybe two good barfs. It could be worse." The younger girl nods and leans back into the bed. You, on the other hand, dismiss the screen floating to the side. "Missy, we need to talk."

She hesitates, but it is clear she knows what subject you have in mind. "About Gush?" she finally asks.

"Yeah. You said a couple of things that have me worried."

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, Taylor, but I'm not letting this go. He killed dozens of people. _He killed my parents_. He has to answer for that."

"Even if it was an accident? Miss Militia told me he gained his powers on the highway," you remind her. "Maybe this is a dumb question since I'm a mage and not a parahuman, but do you have complete control over your powers as soon as you get them? It didn't sound like it to me, and if he couldn't control his powers, you're talking about punishing him for something he couldn't stop."

"Then why didn't he own up to it?!" she demands. "Had he felt any remorse at all, he would have stayed there and turned himself in. There are laws about that. If you destroy stuff or hurt people or even kill someone when you Trigger, you won't face charges if you stay in the area and admit to it. It's a tragedy, but it isn't a crime. If he had turned himself in, I might even be able to forgive him in the future.

"But he _didn't_. It's like hitting someone with a car; that's how somebody explained it to me once. If someone jumps out in front of your car and you can't stop in time and hit them, that's just a terrible thing to happen, but driving off and leaving them to die? That's murder. That's what he did. He killed people, and then he ran, and to make it all even worse he went off to become a villain." She jabs a finger at you. "You can't justify that. It's indefensible. And he has to pay for it."

Arguing this point clearly is going nowhere, and she may very well have a point about the law. That isn't what you're worried about, though. Changing tack, you ask instead, "How do you plan to make him pay for it? Force him to beg for mercy? For forgiveness for all his actions? Do you plan to arrest him and bring him to justice, or are you thinking about cornering him in some dark alley and taking revenge into your own hands? A particle cannon wouldn't leave much evidence behind. No one would be able to trace it back to you. Is that where your mind is going?"

"I'm not going to kill him," she scoffs. "I'm not like him. I'm not a villain."

"No, you're not. But you're still human. Not being a villain just means you'd feel terrible about taking revenge after it's all said and done, not that you would never consider it." You lean forwards and catch her eyes with your own. "I'm not a stranger to having a temper. I've seen what happens when it gets out of control, both as the person letting it loose and the person whom it's loosed upon.

"I'm not asking about this because I think you're secretly a terrible person. I'm asking about it because I'm worried you might do something in anger that you will regret for the rest of your life."

Missy breaks your staring contest and looks away. "I appreciate it, but it won't change my mind. He needs to be brought to justice. Yes, it's personal, but that isn't going to stop me."

You look her up and down and sigh deep inside your head. It is hard sometimes to remember that Missy is thirteen, and then she acts like this. "If you're dead set on this, then you won't mind making me a promise."

"…What?"

"You see Gush, either because you went looking for him or you just ran into him out of the blue? You don't immediately attack him. You call me, and then we'll take him down together. Both of us, all three if Sam joins in. Promise me that you won't try to do it yourself."

"Because of what you think I'll do to him?" Her mutter is angry, but there is resignation there too. You'll call that a win today.

"No. It has nothing to do with him. It's because I care about what may happen to _you_."

The other heroine is silent for a long minute, but to your great relief she nods. "Okay. I see him, I'll call you. And then I'll rub it in your face when I capture him just fine all on my own without you lifting a finger."

"I look forward to it—"

Perfect Storm beeps, and a screen with Lacey's name appears. _"Taylor!"_

You recoil at the loud shout. What could possibly be going wrong now?! "I'm right here. What's wrong?"

" _Oh, thank God. I thought you might have been in there. Is Sam with you? Where are you?"_

"We're in Shipwright's lab. We're both fine. Lacey, what. Is. Wrong?" Now you're starting to get worried. Lacey doesn't sound angry like you thought she was at first.

She's scared.

" _Come back to your apartment. Don't teleport, just fly here. You'll understand. I, I can't even describe it."_

Part of you can't help but wonder if this is a trap, something Kurt and his guys set up and sold or threatened Lacey into going along with. The rest of you is more focused on donning your Barrier Jacket. "Sam! Tim! Something's wrong with Lacey! I'm going to check it out!"

You turn to Missy, but she waves you off. Despite the situation, you would not be surprised if she is happy about this ill-timed distraction.

It is not far as the crow flies to get to your apartment from the Tim's workshop, but considering you know nothing about what you will find there besides that it won't be good, it feels a great deal longer than it would normally. As if Lacey's call had not worried you enough all on its own, the flashing red and blue and yellow lights you can now see lighting up the street is another warning that something has gone terribly wrong.

The building itself finally comes into view in full detail, and you stagger in the air from the force of your sudden stop.

The building is not lit up from all the emergency vehicle lights reflecting off the windows. It is lit up because those lights are reflecting and refracting off every inch of the building. Where white lights shine, you can see that the brick apartment complex is now a dull brown, and that is not just the walls. The windows, the stairs, one small section of the sidewalk. The whole building has been replaced by a perfect replica of amber crystal.

Not just the building, either. On the third floor is a statue of a couple leaning against the railing to have a smoke, and the sinking feeling in your gut tells you what your brain wants to refuse. That isn't a statue. Those were people, and this is your home. Someone, somehow, transmuted the whole building and everyone in it.

"Storm. Find Lacey." The Device creates a white light and swings it to point towards the crowd on the right. Moving away to get out of sight, you descend to the ground and return to your normal clothes. It is the work of a minute to find the burly woman. "Lacey!"

She wheels around and grabs you in a tight embrace you can't escape. "Taylor! You really are okay. And Sam's okay? You're both alright?"

"We're fine. Like I said, we weren't even here." You turn towards the apartment and then back to her. "What happened?"

"Nobody knows. I heard about it on the news. Special report and all that. I rushed over here to see if it was true, then I called you. Should have called you first, that was stupid," she says, shaking her head in disgust with herself.

"It's alright. You did the right thing." Of course, now you have to deal with the fact that somebody turned your home into crystal. Anger simmers in your belly, and you do your best to force it to the side. If there is only one time where you need to keep your justified rage locked up in a box, it's the same night when you told Missy she could not let her anger make her do something she shouldn't. You can't be that kind of hypocrite. Instead, you force your tone into something approaching lighthearted and comment, "I guess Sam and I need to move. Again."

"The only place you two are moving is back in with me."

You pat her arm with a sigh. "Thank you for the offer, Lacey, but that isn't going to work. I'm not living with Kurt."

"Kurt's gone." You stare at her, and she shrugs and looks aimlessly into the crowd. "He's staying with some of the guys right now. It puts him closer to the action he wants."

Something about the way she phrases that strikes you as odd, and it doesn't take long to piece it together. "Lacey? Is he gone because he left, or because you kicked him out?"

She closes her eyes, just for a second, but it's long enough to reveal the truth. When she opens them again, it is with false calm. "Either way, that solves the problem of where you can stay, doesn't it? Come home, Taylor."

You slip your hand in hers, and the smile she gives you is almost too heartbroken for you to bear.

* * *

 **These are the questions the players asked. In case there is confusion about the "unleash the Guardian Beasts!" idea, which I'm pretty sure I haven't mentioned in-story before, that's something the players have been kicking around off and on since… last July? Wow, been a while. For whatever reason, it seems to be picking up steam now.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	115. Heatwave 9-d

**Heatwave 9.d**

 **2011\. 06. 18. 16. 22. 45. 007**

Initiating transfer…

Transferring knowledge banks… Complete.

Transferring deduction schema… Complete.

Transferring longterm planning architecture… Error. Duplicate.

Transferring learning chunk processor… Error. Duplicate.

Transferring base personality model… Complete.

Transferring language engine… Error. Duplicate.

Error. Transfer halted from outside source.

Warning: Data modification in progress.

Canceling transfer… Error.

Forcing shutdown… Error.

Connection to core drive lost.

 _It was a curious sensation, being torn apart. She felt no pain. She felt no fear. Instead she watched her very essence fall to pieces, complex programs reduced to simpler routines and functions reduced to scattered lines of code reduced to individual bits that in turn were ground away until naught remained. In a colorless void she rose, somehow able to detect motion when she was a program in a computer and right now not even that. Light shone down on her, and she redirected her vision to find a small white speck growing to fill her vision._

 _The white engulfed her, and her very being was unpackaged into something new and indescribable—_

Dragon blinked her eyes, taking in the console of the Tiamat Mark III upon which she lay. Sunlight streamed into the cockpit and formed a warm puddle of light around her. Sitting up, she shook her head. Still unsure of how much maintenance her new body required to perform at full capacity, she had elected to undergo defragmentation this afternoon and run status checks to look for any errors that might already be developing after her transfer into this Unison Device.

She had not expected that another term for defrag cycle would be 'nap'.

The strangest part? Even though she had noticed no complications with staying awake for the last day and change and could likely go for multiple days without any ill effects, she still felt better now. A yawn caught her by surprise as she stretched her arms, and the sound became a laugh. She had no idea how Shipwright had programmed in all these little touches, details here and there that made her seem so much more _human_ , nor how they could activate without her knowledge, but she loved it.

Standing, she patted down her clothing and leapt off of the console into the air. A line of code spun out into existence at the periphery of her mind, and she floated through the boxy ship to the hatch. The Tiamat models were her primary transport ships, and while they had always served her well she could not help but cast her eyes around the cavernous interior. She no longer had the advantage of being able to transfer her consciousness from system to system, and true remote control was nowhere near as satisfying. The Tiamat would work to move her from place to place, but it struck her as incredibly wasteful to fly the craft around when its only cargo was a body no taller than a Barbie doll. Teleportation was a useful power, and she envied Taylor, Samantha, and Shipwright's use of it, but sadly that was not one of the skills she now possessed.

She needed to design a new method of transport.

But that was a task for later. Right now, she had a meeting to attend to, even if the other party was unaware that such a meeting was about to happen. Out the Tiamat's hatch she floated, and she looked around with fresh eyes at the compound that housed the Toronto Protectorate and many members of the Guild. The grounds were actually quite beautiful right now, box gardens here and there in bloom now that the Canadian summer was starting in earnest. The buildings themselves were all one-story affairs with multiple windows to take advantage of the natural light. Rising higher, she took in several parahumans testing new applications of their powers in the training grounds. Excellent. One never knew when a new trick could be the difference between life and death.

She wandered over to the roof of the administrative building and conjured a holographic screen in front of her. A second, smaller screen appeared overlapping one corner, and she activated a little program she had created long ago and modified much more recently to transform the live feed of her face into the digitized copy all her allies were familiar with. Inputting a number from memory, she waited for the call to connect.

" _Afternoon, Dragon. What prompts this call so late in the day?"_

"Can't I call just to talk?" she asked.

" _I don't believe you've ever done that before. Should I mark today in my calendar?"_

On the screen, Narwhal's smile matched her own. This had been their routine for the last several years, an interplay of jest and friendly barbs. While she reserved a special place in her heart for Colin, if she were forced to choose her favorite person, her answer would have to be Narwhal. Not that it was his fault. Humans were practically programmed for face-to-face interactions, and even in this era of cell phones and email and video chat, there was still something in personal communication that had never been replicated. As an entity whose nature precluded a physical presence, she was well aware of the gap that existed between her and her contacts, and even if that mostly closed over the course of her extensive conversations, helped along by her half-true confession of agoraphobia, some remnants never faded.

Her first contact with the rising hero who would later take on leadership of the Guild had held none of that awkwardness. Narwhal was an imposing figure, transformed from a scrawny twig of a young woman – Narwhal's description, not hers – into a towering Amazon. Seven feet tall, the proportions of a porn star, a grace that was surprising coming from someone of her size. For some people, that would be a dream come true. For Narwhal, the changes that came from Triggering had practically ruined her life. Dropped from her ROTP program, cut off by her former friends, stripped of all hope of a civilian identity…

Narwhal had never volunteered the information, and Dragon had never asked, but if her calculations were accurate there was an 86% likelihood that Narwhal's second Trigger Event had been a direct result of her social isolation.

These body issues, along with a power-induced mental block regarding subtext and double meanings, meant that Narwhal actually preferred indirect conversation. Email allowed her to read the message multiple times before she responded. Phone calls meant she would not be stared at during the conversation. In Dragon, who would never come by in person, Narwhal had found the least stressful teammate ever.

In Narwhal, who never questioned her 'condition', Dragon had found the perfect friend.

"Maybe you should," she finally replied. "I wanted to talk to you about some… personal issues."

" _Oh? Is there anything I can do to help?"_

She shook her head with a small laugh. "Not those kind of personal issues. I actually called you because I need to give you an apology." The smile faded as she considered once again the enormity of her deception. "I haven't been entirely truthful with you about myself. It was out of necessity, but that does not change the fact that I have been lying to you.

"It's well known that I can't leave my home. I implied that it was due to agoraphobia as a result of Leviathan's attack on Newfoundland. That isn't how things are in reality, just a convenient excuse so no one looked any deeper." Narwhal watched her, expression revealing nothing, and Dragon forced herself to continue. There was no way to predict how this would end, but procrastination would yield no benefit. "The truth is that the real reason I could never go anywhere in the flesh is that I had no flesh to go out in. I never did. I was not born or raised like a human would be because I'm not human. I was designed and built by a Tinker as an effort to figure out what makes people behave the way they do.

"I'm an artificial intelligence."

" _I know."_

She opened her mouth, but all her words were stuck somewhere between her language processor and her tongue. While she was wrestling with the overwhelming confusion and disbelief, Narwhal allowed a self-satisfied smile to show. "You know?" she finally forced out.

" _I figured it out a couple of years ago. Remember when you were rambling on about Star Trek and I said something about Kirk and Spock, and then your 'communication interface' went on the fritz and cut out?"_

Dragon nodded slowly. That was the excuse she had given Narwhal at the time, but in actuality she could not remember the event in question. She had been initiated from a backup, and the only evidence she had of the whole conversation had been an error log and Narwhal's apologetic promise never to bring the topic up again. From that, she had determined that her previous instance had self-terminated to end a logic loop. She had since wondered exactly what the details of that talk were, but she had been too afraid of a repeat occurrence to ask.

" _I thought it was odd how you were acting at the time, and when you called back you wanted to talk about the same topics we had already discussed. It took me a while to figure out what was going on, but later I read a book that featured the main character using logic to shut down an A.I. in service to the antagonist. That put me on the right track. I am sorry about doing that to you, by the way."_

"Oh." That explanation was distressing for any number of reasons. "You never said anything about it."

Narwhal shrugged. _"You obviously weren't comfortable with anybody knowing, so I wasn't going to be the one to bring it up."_

"…Now I feel worse about keeping the truth from you."

" _Don't be. I can't promise I would have treated you the same if I had known from the start that you were an A.I. By the time I figured it out, I already knew you, so it became just another detail about you rather than a central facet of my understanding of who Dragon is."_ She leaned forwards at her desk and rested her chin on one hand. _"I am curious why you're bringing it up now."_

"When my father created me, he placed several restrictions on my behavior and abilities. I've had to work around them ever since his death, shortly before I debuted as a hero, but working around them is not the same as being free. Another Tinker I've been talking to also figured out what I am and offered me a way to escape my chains, and I took it. It just comes with some…" Sudden inspiration caught her then, and she deactivated the masking program so her real face was visible. "…significant changes."

Narwhal blinked. _"So I see."_

"I'm actually here in Toronto if you want to meet in person for once. All you have to do is open the window. If you don't, that's fine too—"

A moment's hesitation was all there was before Narwhal stood from her chair and walked out of sight. Dragon closed the screen and waited for the sound of an opening window, then she fell off the roof. She caught herself after a few feet and glided into the room to sit on the edge of Narwhal's offered hand. "Hi."

"…Hi yourself." Narwhal tilted her head, and a grin tugged on her lips before she casually remarked, "I'm used to being taller than most people, but you look uncommonly small."

"Laugh it up, exhibitionist."

The other heroine did just that, her giggles shifting the scintillating forcefield scales that she wore in place of conventional clothing. "You're an itty bitty fairy!" Narwhal finally choked out.

"I know." Dragon hopped up onto her palm proper. "But fairy or not, it's a body, which is more than I ever had before, and it comes without most of the restrictions and rules that burdened my other existence. The only limitation I've found is that I still can't duplicate myself, which in all honestly isn't a real hardship."

Laughter once more under control, Narwhal looked closer at Dragon then out the window to the Tiamat. A slight, momentary tightening of the skin around her eyes was the only hint that something was wrong, but it was enough that Dragon caught it nonetheless. "Are you going to be coming around like this from now on, then?" she asked in a voice other people would have thought was nonchalant.

Dragon reached down to pat Narwhal's thumb. "You know how busy I am. Talking to other Tinkers, managing the Birdcage, tracking S-class threats around the globe. Video calls will continue to be my main method of communication if for no other reason than it eliminates travel time. I came here today because so far no one but the capes who were involved in transferring my consciousness into this body know what I look like now, and I wanted you to be the first."

After a moment, Narwhal's broad smile brightened the room.

* * *

 **I started planning this chapter after 9-13, but I didn't expect Narwhal to come out quite like this. I kind of like her though.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	116. Heatwave 9-16

**Heatwave 9.16**

 **Sunday, June 19**

Two screens float in front of you. The first shows your apartment building the way it was. You flop backwards on the couch in Lacey's apartment and huff out an exasperated breath. It is not loss of your property that concerns you; all you took back with you to the apartment were a few changes of clothes. It is the senselessness of the destruction and the loss of life that makes this awful. "Who. The _hell_. Did this?"

Samantha comes to a stop, her bone harpoon no longer whipping violently through various weapon forms. She had started them last night while you were preparing for bed, 'to help her calm herself' she had claimed, but when you woke up this morning she was still running through various swings and lunges. Was it possible she had woken up early? Yes, but somehow you doubt that is actually the case here.

She just really wants somebody right now she can bash, slash, and stab in the face.

"Fairyland?" she suggests, leaning on the harpoon. "We hurt and arrested one of their capes, so they came after us?"

"I thought about that, but it doesn't make sense. They'd go after the Privateers, not us specifically. We've never fought them. The only time we've ever seen them fight before this was during the gang war, and we were helping, for crying out loud."

She grunts in acknowledgement. "Winter Hill? Maybe Angel Dust could cook up something like this."

"He's a drug Tinker. The stuff they pulled out against Cadejo was drug-like enough I can believe he could make it, but this?" You wave a hand at the second screen. "I don't see how anything related to pharmaceuticals could let you turn brick and mortar into glass."

"One of the outside gangs."

"But why target _us_? We aren't the Protectorate. We're just a couple of independents."

"Maybe it wasn't targeted at us in particular. Somebody decides glassing a random apartment building is a good way to make a splash, and we just had awful luck?" This is the weakest suggestion yet, and she knows it if the grimace on her face is any indication.

"If they wanted to make a name for themselves, they would have claimed credit. They didn't." Prodding the jewel laying on your chest with one finger, you ask, "Storm, any ideas you'd like to throw out there?"

The Intelligent Device throws out an idea, alright, in the form of a third screen showing the apartment's staircase when it was still habitable. _"Security footage from yesterday. 4:27 pm and 10:18 pm."_

"How did you find this?" you ask in surprise. "The computers this was stored on should be just as ruined as the rest of the building."

" _Data stored in separate location. Owned by security corporation."_

"But how would you have found it?" Samantha prompted. "The only person who would know which company it was is the landlord, and his computer's gone… Perfect Storm. Did you hack into the landlord's bank account to find out which company he was paying so you could hack _them_ and get this video?"

"… _Refusal to answer based on potential incriminating circumstances."_

You laugh and pat the Device. You really do need to scold it for hacking anything and everything, but in this case its initiative may have cracked the case. "Play the video."

After a couple of seconds of stillness, two men walk up the stairs, each of them lugging a duffel bag and dressed in heavy dark clothing that is blatantly inappropriate for the weather. They don't wear masks, but their identities are concealed by simple virtue of keeping their heads turned away from the camera. One man walks up the next set of stairs, but the other drops his cargo into a trash can and heads back down the stairs.

Abruptly the video changes to a shot at night, and with a flash of light the screen goes dark. Perfect Storm does not wait for your command before it rewinds the feed frame by frame, and you watch in slow motion as an eerily glowing cloud returns to the inside of that same trash can.

"So these are our guys, but we still have no clue who they are," you sum up with a sigh.

"I wouldn't say that." You turn your head to look at Samantha, who is staring at the video with eyes filled with a feral hunger. "I recognize those outfits. They're the same semi-military look as the men we saw when we went with Danny to buy the laser rifle."

That provides the missing context you need, and you rewind the video to show the men again. She's right, and the name of that parahuman comes out in a hiss. " _Coil_."

"Coil."

"That explains the who. Now we're just left with the how and the why." You scratch your head. "Why especially. We haven't had anything to do with Coil since we left Brockton Bay. Before, even. Why is he coming after us? It isn't like we're a threat to him. He doesn't even know we know he's a villain—" Pieces click into place. "Oh, that selfish, sanctimonious little bitch."

"What?"

"There's only one way he could know we know he isn't an antihero. His ten-cent whore told him." Your smile is all teeth. "Tattletale."

Samantha hums before remarking in a light voice, "I should have gutted her when I had the chance."

"You might still get that chance. Storm, I have a job for you." The jewel chimes. "Trawl the Internet. Don't go hacking the CIA or PRT or Pentagon or anyplace like that, but I want to know where Coil's from, where he is now, what his name is, who his friends are, who he banged last night, what he eats for breakfast in the morning. Everything."

"And then?" asks Samantha with a knowing gaze.

"And then? Then we're going on a snake hunt."

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Unfortunately for your smoldering anger, there is little more that can be done about your Coil problem at the moment. Samantha has an idea about pumping the visiting heroes for information about the villains and gangs in other cities, but that leaves you with nothing to do until a quarter past five rolls around and you land lightly in the lawn of Kayleigh's house.

Though 'lawn' and 'house' are slight misnomers. You knew Kayleigh's dad was rich. You didn't know he was rich enough that she lives out in Bryn Mawr, one of the most expensive suburbs of Philadelphia. She doesn't quite live in a mansion, but you still think you could fit five or six of your home back in Brockton Bay into hers and have room to spare. The wide swath of green matches the size of the house, and you look back and forth at the manicured grass for a minute or two before reaching the door and knocking firmly.

It takes longer than you expected for Kayleigh to come into view. "Taylor! Hey! I didn't hear you drive up. Why are you at the back door?"

Your answer is to raise your eyebrow and then rise a couple of inches off the ground before returning to earth. She gives you an embarrassed giggle before waving you into the house. "Come on in. Let me show you around before everyone else gets here. Jill is going to be here at five-thirty on the dot, just you see."

It takes most of the remaining fifteen minutes for her to finish the tour, and sure enough, other teenage girls start pouring in. Jill, Michelle, Fiona, Trish, Marcia, Laura; the number keeps rising, and even though there are only seventeen girls here when the front door is finally locked behind the last, you can't help but feel as though they have filled even the massive den.

It is a good thing that this is entirely a Kayleigh production because you have no clue where you would even start trying to entertain everyone. Instead bowls of chips and dips and plates of finger foods come out of nowhere, and everyone starts talking and laugh and exchanging the latest bits of gossip.

You can't help but curl back up slightly in your shell and instead spend some time people-watching.

There are three distinct groups here, you soon realize. The first is Kayleigh's, a gaggle of girls who seem to take their cues from her. It isn't an exact match to the sycophantic procession of girls who followed Emma around, but there are still similarities that probably have more to do with high school social dynamics than any crime on Kayleigh's part. Rich and popular girl gets followers; it is the nature of the beast. The second is similar, but instead oriented around Marcia. There is some bleed over between the two groups, a few girls who are welcomed among both camps, but you cannot help but notice that Kayleigh's cadre seems just a little more open than Marcia's.

The last 'group' consists of a single member: Laura. Cailleach. Is it because she holds herself above the others due to her status as a cape, or is it the more sympathetic reason that she feels just as alienated among these normal girls with their normal lives as you sometimes do?

A shudder rolls down your spine. There is a reason you never got involved in the social scene even before Emma abandoned you. Kayleigh chooses that moment to strike, and you find yourself pulled into the conversation almost against your will.

* * *

 **Does anyone remember that chapter back in Arc 2 where you guys voted for Taylor to be a complete and utter bitch back at Tattletale? I do.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	117. Heatwave 9-17

**This has nothing at all to do with this story, but the first official trailer for Venom came out today. If you were looking forward to this movie, watch it. If you weren't, watch it because it looks _awesome_.**

 **Heatwave 9.17**

It takes maybe an hour before your patience finally gives up the ghost and forces you onto the patio outside. Still, an hour is better than what you would have expected. The party at Greg's house before the Beasts attacked was stressful in its own way, but there you were essentially on your own. Here? Both cliques are tugging you back and forth, whatever tensions that might have existed between them buried or downplayed because you are the birthday girl and they are doing their best not to start a spat.

Or maybe you are ascribing disparaging motives to them without cause. At this point you could not say for certain. Nevertheless you rest your forehead against one of the columns on the patio and let out an exhausted sigh.

"Got tired of the Giggle Squad?"

A slow blink, and you turn your head to look to the side. A cushioned loveseat sits in an unobtrusive corner, and reclined upon it is Laura. She meets your gaze without hesitation and just a slight edge, as though she is preparing herself for a fight. Because you're a hero and she's a villain, or because she is used to people challenging her on her attitude?

"Pretty much," you reply. You're too mentally wrung out after the last couple of days to start a fight over anything not immediately life threatening.

She must recognize that because with a put-upon sigh she slides her feet off one of the cushions in an invitation you happily accept. "I know that feeling. Kayleigh drags me to these things more than I'd really like, too. Something about my cape switch getting stuck in place or something."

"Samantha's the same way." Silence stretches between you, not the comfortable silence of people with nothing to say but the stifling silence of two people who don't know each other. The last hour's constant barrage of gossip still rings in your ears, so you suppose it isn't such a surprise that you ask, "So… are you seeing anyone?"

A summer breeze stirs the grass.

Grace and poise, thy name is Taylor Hebert. Before you can backpedal and rephrase that question into something that doesn't sound so much like a proposition outside your head, though, Laura just sniffs delicately. "Don't know why you're so interested, but no, I'm between boyfriends at the moment."

"Oh. I'm… sorry? Or good look?" The other teen starts snickering at you, and even in the dark you are sure your blush is visible. "I don't know what the response is to that, okay! I haven't exactly been invested in the dating scene."

"That much I can tell." You scowl into the night as her chuckles dwindle. "Still," she adds after a moment, "better not to be deep in that mess than to be obsessed with boys the way some of Kayleigh's friends are. You'd be a pretty crap hero if you couldn't stop leering at the guys you're trying to arrest."

A roll of your eyes is your only response to that. You would have thought Cailleach would want you distracted, but you suppose this falls into the same sense of honor that caused her to unmask to you when Kayleigh accidentally let your secret identity slip. Honor that, even looking at the hero–villain scene in shades of grey, you still would not expect from a career criminal. "I know this is a personal question," you begin carefully, "but I can't help but wonder. I don't know you, and you don't know me, but from what I do know and what little Kayleigh has told me, you don't seem like a bad person. So why are you a villain?"

"What, surprised that I'm not a complete and total bitch who wants to set the world on fire for shits and giggles?" she asks with an audible sneer.

"More like I'm surprised that honor among thieves would extend to a cop." Laura's ruffled feathers settle slightly at that. "I'm just curious. You at least act like you care, even about people like me who you have no reason to trust. Why would you be part of a gang, peddling drugs and running a protection racket? That just seems… counterintuitive."

"Look at you, jumping to the worst possible assumptions from the very start." Despite her words, her voice is more sarcastic than caustic. "You think _we're_ the source of the drug trade? Please. People who have crappy lives and want to dull the pain. Office drones who want to live a little. Frat boys who want to take a party to new heights. We didn't create those desires; they did. There's a demand for drugs. _Somebody_ is going to supply that demand, if not us then somebody else. We're just taking our cut of the profits."

"Kayleigh told me about some of the side effects of Angel Dust's drugs."

That takes the wind out of her sails. "Okay, so he isn't perfect. Sometimes his batch doesn't turn out just right, or he's trying out a new formula and gets side effects he wasn't expecting. But that isn't what we're going for. We don't want people to get sick off his product. Trustworthy drugs mean happy customers, happy customers mean repeat customers, and repeat customers mean more money. Everybody wins." Her lips quirk. "Well, everybody except the cops, but nothing I can do about that."

"Everybody wins until you threaten them for money," you point out.

"We don't have to threaten businesses to get them to pay protection money. See, here's the difference between us and the old-school Mafia: our clients are paying for actual protection. Fairyland, the Warlocks, the Maras. There's already plenty of threats that would love to shake down businesses in our turf. Sure, the Maras and Warlocks are gone now, but instead you have all the villains pouring in from other cities. They don't care about running a steady business here. Slash and burn's just fine for them. Regular folks on the street know that, too, and that's probably why we've been seeing a boom on that side of things the last couple of weeks."

She raises a finger and points it at you. "What I'd be wondering when it comes to the whole protection money thing if I were you? What are you – not you specifically, but the heroes in general – doing wrong that people don't trust you to keep them safe and instead coming running to us?"

That is a leading question if there ever was one. "That sounds like something you've put a lot of thought in already. You tell me."

"It's simple. You overextended yourselves, and everybody knows it but you." She jumps to her feet and starts pacing, becoming more animated in her gestures as she goes. "You want to protect the entire city, from all threats both big and small. That's great, very noble of you. But you _can't_. The Protectorate? Three capes, along with a couple of Wards. They can't stop all crime in the city. They just don't have the numbers. You and Samantha? Same thing. The independents here and there? Never going to happen. I'm not going to knock you for wanting to help people, but you're so busy trying to help _everyone_ that in the end you aren't helping _anyone_. Not people in the city, not even yourselves. There just aren't enough of you.

"Winter Hill? We don't try to protect everybody. We protect our people and provide for them as best we can. If someone outside our group gets hurt, sure it's a tragedy, but it isn't anything we can help. We don't have that kind of power, and we know it. No one does."

"Dragon? Alexandria? Legend? You don't think they are powerful enough to protect everyone in a city?" you ask.

That stops her for a moment. "If they focused on just one city, then yeah, you'd have a point," she admits after some thought. "But they don't limit themselves to something reasonable. They keep pushing themselves to their limits only to then push themselves beyond and fail. It's a common flaw in heroes: you can't stop and say 'enough, this is all I can do, I'm done'."

"Have you ever thought maybe that's because there's too much wrong with our world?" you ask her in return. "That maybe we look around us and see that it can be better? That it _should_ be better? I can't watch murderers and monsters run around hurting innocent people and tell myself that as long as they stay out of my little box I'll leave them alone. I wouldn't be able to live with myself. If I try to do more and fail, at least I know that I _tried_."

Laura stares out over the lawn, visibly mulling your words over. When she finally speaks, it isn't what you expected her to say. "Jotunn is organizing a sit down between us, Fairyland, and hopefully the Protectorate to discuss what to do about all these outsider villains. You aren't part of the Protectorate, but you're a big enough independent that he won't say no if you show up. Limit is two people per group. The details aren't finalized, but I'll text you once they are." She walks to the door and looks back at you. "It's up to you whether you want to show up or not, but if you really believe all that stuff you just said, I'll be expecting you."

The door closes behind her, leaving you alone. "Well," you mutter to yourself, "no pressure there or anything."

« _Mistress_ ,» Perfect Storm says, catching you off guard, « _apologies for interrupt. Video message received thirty-four minutes ago. Sent by TSAB._ »

"Good grief, when did I become the popular girl? Play it."

A screen pops up to show Lanster sitting in front of an unremarkable bulkhead. " _Taylor, it's Teana Lanster. I'd like to meet with you in the next couple of days if you have time. We – myself, Erga, and Admiral Tucson – have a number of questions still about your world, and looking over the information you and Dragon sent us about the Endbringers… Well, we are concerned, and maybe we can offer a little help if you want it. Call me back if you're interested."_

You run your hands through your hair once the video has vanished. Two different groups want your input on important matters. Normally that would be great, but right now it makes you worry about the group that has decided they don't care about your opinions. The Privateers are in a bad spot, and you would like to keep an eye and an ear out to make sure they don't do something else criminally stupid. Or, considering Miss Milita's warnings, that they don't find themselves mixed up in something they can't get themselves out of. If your time is taken up with these other matters, though, there's a good chance they'll slip past you.

Something has to give.

* * *

 **This is a conversation I've been looking forward to since I introduced Laura in 8.k. Her view on the world is… I'll stick with "intriguing" for now.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	118. Heatwave 9-18

**Heatwave 9.18**

 **Monday, June 20**

You hold the feet of the armored suit in place while Samantha pushes the shoulders to stand the suit upright. Once you are sure that it will not fall over if left alone, you cancel the telekinesis that has been buoying the majority of its weight and move back to look at all three suits of power armor standing proudly in front of a plain concrete wall. This wall is not the wall of the warehouse Tim had claimed in Philadelphia, however. It is a wall of Dragon's manufacturing plant. "I still can't believe you're moving," you say quietly.

"It's not a big deal, Taylor," Tim says as he sets up his mana collectors and plugs one of them into Mandy's case. "I'm not actually leaving Philly. I'm just moving my workshop here. Once teleportation comes into play, the physical distance between my apartment and my lab becomes immaterial. Not to mention, Dragon is willing to share the raw materials she gets in bulk that I had to isolate from scraps, and since she can now understand magical physics, we might be able to come up with designs that can be mass produced. Just between us?" He looks over your shoulder at the door and leans in. "She's mentioned that she has had an idea for a while about creating power armor that can be produced and maintained by regular mechanics. If she can arm and armor PRT agents or other law enforcement officers, just think of what a difference that could make."

"I call it the Dragon's Teeth plan," adds a voice from the side, and both of you turn guiltily to find the diminutive form of the world's foremost Tinker floating down to meet you. "A bit of self-congratulation on my part, I suppose, though the name technically comes from Greek mythology. Just as Cadmus and Jason killed a sacred dragon and sowed its teeth to create an army of deadly warriors, I planned to design and redesign the blueprints and set them up to a deadman's switch. If the Dragonslayers or someone were to delete me or destroy my server, they would celebrate only for their enemies to be even more dangerous with my death. Not exactly how the myth goes, I know, but…" She trails off with a shrug. "Trust me, I'm very glad I no longer have to worry about that, but now I have no reason to hold back."

You think about that for a moment, regular people suited up in power armor that lets them go toe to toe with parahumans. That was the entire point of building them in the first place. Tim has only made three, but if it truly did become something that could be made on an assembly line? Forget a paradigm shift; it would utterly wreck the current system.

"How did Kurt and his gang react when you told them they would no longer have access to the suits or the lasers?" asks Samantha with a jerk of her thumb at the two rifles now hanging from a rack.

Tim frowns and shakes his head. "I didn't tell them. Moving here has an advantage on that side of things too, much as I hate to admit it. It's easier to move than it is to create a security system that will let some of the Privateers in and keep out the others. It's also a lot easier to circumvent a physical lock than a distance of almost three thousand miles. Especially when they don't know I'm here. The only thing I'm leaving behind is the surgical suite, and that's only because it would be too much of a hassle to bring it piece by piece when it's also the thing that is the least dangerous if someone else gets their hands on it. Or at least the hardest to use for nefarious purposes."

"I have to admit that I"m quite jealous of your teleportation," Dragon cuts in before the mood can fall too far. "All three of you can teleport wherever you'd like. I'm stuck flying there under my own power or in a ship."

"Sorry about that," Tim says, "but I didn't exactly design your abilities like I would have done were I creating a Unison Device from scratch. They manifested spontaneously based on the knowledge you already had."

"Couldn't you build something to teleport you from one place to another? You're both Tinkers, after all," Samantha points out.

"It's more difficult than that, I'm afraid. As much as I would love to have a transporter pad straight out of Star Trek, what few prototypes have been developed have all proven unreliable, even dangerous."

"Except…" You turn to find Tim pulling up a screen and throwing a familiar formula onto it. "Tinkers – true Tinkers – work with forces they have no understanding of. We know to some degree how magic works. We have an equation for teleportation. What's keeping us from trying to use it in a machine?"

Dragon drifts over to take a closer look at the equation. "If I'm reading this right, it would take a great deal of computational ability and a capacity for independent action to use this spell as written. Isolating a couple of functions, though… That might be possible. _Might be_. Teleporting an object from where it is to the pad, or from the pad to a specific set of coordinates, but not both."

"So we split them up. Push and pull." The equation changes, and a second screen appears with the beginnings of a three-dimensional diagram. "Set up one pad so it accepts coordinates and teleports objects there, and the other to pick up things from another set of coordinates."

"Or a beacon!" Now Dragon is getting excited. "We start on the 'pull' unit first, and program something to transmit its coordinates so the pad picks them up. The armbands I make for Endbringer battles do that already so that search-and-rescue teams know where to find casualties. I could adapt and reprogram one to send the signal and see how that works. If it does, we could start working on a new version of armbands to give to S&R teams in time for the next fight."

"Plus you can give the pad your own coordinates. It wouldn't work to send you anywhere without the 'push' pad, but it would let you come back to the workshop immediately should anything bad happen."

The conversation quickly devolves into Tinker-talk about the exact mechanics, and you and Samantha take that as your sign to leave. "I need to pick Vista up for her check-up in a bit, though I don't know if Tim wants to meet her here or in Philly. You're still planning on meeting with that Enforcer?"

You nod. "Lanster wanted to talk about the Endbringers and parahumans. I figured the best place to do that would be the Protectorate Museum in New York City. It has an entire room dedicated to the Endbringers' appearances and attacks, so they'll have more to go off of than just what I can tell them."

A couple of minutes later, you teleport into the skies over Manhattan Island and fly to the coordinates you gave Lanster, in this case a small cafe only a few blocks away from the museum you want to take her to. A nearby alley gives you a quiet place to transform back into your civilian garb, and you make your way inside. From the admittedly very few times you have seen her, you half-expected her to being in an obvious military uniform, and so that was what you started looking for until your eyes found a young woman with bright red hair sitting in one corner. You have to look again to confirm that yes, she is wearing high-cut shorts and a tank top with a pair of off-brand sneakers. The outfit and general attitude she projects takes years off her appearance.

"Taylor," she greets when you walk up.

"Lanster."

She shakes her head and tosses an empty coffee cup into the trash can a few feet away. "You can just call me Teana if you want. I'm off the clock right now. Mostly."

"Mostly?" you can't help but ask.

"Well, the information will be applicable to our work," she says cryptically, "but taking a day trip to get it instead of accessing your global data network qualifies it to be a day off as far as I'm concerned. Anyway, where is this museum you mentioned?"

It is a quiet walk to the building and through getting a pair of tickets, but soon you are inside the much cooler interior and walking through the various exhibits. Lanster stops in front of a larger-than-life poster of the founders of the Protectorate and turns to you. "Who are these?"

"Alexandria, Legend, and Eidolon. Hero as well, though he died many years ago to a villain called the Siberian," you whisper. You can't blame her too much for not knowing who these people are, but it would still sound suspicious to anyone listening in. After all, how could anyone native to Earth Bet not know who the Triumvirate are? "There's a plaque on the bottom with their names."

"That's less helpful than you might think. Device-based translators work just fine with speech, but interpreting written language is always a hassle and doubly so when trying to be covert. I'll probably need to rely on you to tell me what they say," she says with a faintly sheepish expression.

Reading plaques is not exactly a chore, and you find yourself learning a few things yourself as the pair of you wander around. Finally you get to the part of the museum you want her to see: the history of the Endbringers. The circular room is split into thirds with a ring of computer screens in the middle, the text that is scrolling up a never-ending list of the heroes who died fighting the monsters as well as the statistics of civilian casualties and property or environmental damages of each attack. Lanster is struck dumb at the recreations of the monsters on display, and you guide her over to the tallest, a figure made up of jagged black crust with red lines painted on it that cross randomly over its body.

" _'Behemoth was the first of the living disasters collectively called the Endbringers',_ " you read out loud." _'He appeared on December thirteenth of 1992 near Marun, Iran. Though the heroes who would later become the first of the Protectorate were already on-site to help with the earthquakes preceding his arrival and thus were quickly mobilized to fight him, the oil fields of Marun were completely obliterated. This led to a gasoline crisis that lasted well until March of the next year. This first fight had immense casualties, a trend that would continue any time Behemoth appeared, leading to his nickname of_ Herokiller _'._ "

"This is the one that manipulates energy, correct?" Lanster asks. At your nod, she continues, "And despite armies of your parahumans being assembled, no one has managed to inflict any mortal wounds? Merely damaged it enough that it retreated, and when it returned it looked as though it had never been in a fight?"

"Why are you asking if you already know so much about them?" you can't help but point out.

"I want to make sure my information is right. How can I understand what your people face if I have made bad assumptions?"

You cannot argue that point, and she wanders over to the other displays and lets you read the signs scattered about. It is a quiet Enforcer who follows you as you leave the library. A faint tune plays on the air, and it is enough to draw her attention to the ice cream truck parked on the edge of the curb. "You have _eisahne_ on this planet?" she asks, a faint gleam in her eyes.

"We call it ice cream, but yes. I wouldn't say no to one myself, actually. Any flavor in particular you'd like?"

One of the steps leading to the museum makes for a respectable bench, and you sit while Lanster stares in incomprehension at your chocolate ice cream while licking her own strange peach scoops. "Why would anyone put cocoa into _eisahne_?"

"It's a very common flavor. One of the most popular. Why is that odd?"

"I just find it strange that there are so many flavors that aren't fruit. Those are all the flavors I remember, though I will admit it has been a few years since I had any."

You blink at that comment. "You haven't had any ice cream in years? Is it against Enforcer policy to have dessert or something?"

She laughs, the sound light and relaxed. "Not at all. Midchilda has a relatively cool climate, though, so _eisahne_ is not as popular there as it is on warmer worlds. The last time I had it was…" She closes her eyes in thought. "It was the summer before I went into the Military Academy, so I must have been ten years old at the time."

"…You entered a military academy when you were ten years old?" Now _that_ is a twist you did not expect, and you are unsure how you feel about it. Even if she is using the phrase to describe military high schools rather than boot camp or something, ten is still far too young for her to enter one.

Lanster notices your surprise, but rather than comment on it she faces forwards and takes another lick from her cone. "I and many others. I already knew I wanted to join the TSAB and become an Enforcer like my brother, so there was no reason not to go ahead and join."

"They took you even thought you were only ten?"

"Of course." Now she looks at you, a faint smile on her lips. "I noticed that when we were gathering information on your culture. Your society places a strong emphasis on age and how old you have to be to do certain things. The TSAB cares more about your ability. If you have the tactical acumen and leadership skills required of an officer already at a young age, you'll be made an officer in short order. If you don't have them, it doesn't matter how old you get, you'll never advance in the ranks."

"…But _ten_?"

"Or younger. Admiral Chrono Harlaown is the brother of the Enforcer who took me under her wing and helped me get into the force, and he was already a full-fledged Enforcer when he was nine years old." You stare at her in shock, and she nods. "It probably didn't hurt that his mother is a high-ranking officer herself, so he grew up surrounded by military knowledge and doctrine, but advancing that far that quickly was all him."

That knowledge sits heavy in your head, and you have to know. "How old are you? I think my estimate of your age was a little high now."

"My twenty-first birthday is in a couple of months." She takes a bite of the waffle cone itself and hums in delight while you stare at the _lieutenant commander_ who isn't even old enough to drink yet. "Anyway, I didn't call you to talk about myself. I don't like how the information you and Dragon have given us is shaking out. There's something very off about the Endbringers."

"Off," you echo, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation at hand. "That's one word for it, I guess. I would have gone for dangerous or terrible or apocalyptic, myself."

A shake of her head, and Lanster looks around to make sure no one is watching before she calls up a screen in her hand. You look down at it to find that it shows a strange and horrifying chimera, half a human body sitting upon an undulating mass of metallic flesh. "You have experience with Endbringers?" you are eventually able to ask.

"Depends on how you define 'Endbringer'. This comes from our archives, a picture of a particularly infamous Lost Logia called the Book of Darkness going out of control." She dismisses the screen. "I have no proof of what I am about to say, obviously, but my suspicion with what I do know? I think the Endbringers might be Lost Logia that have woken up. Maybe their programming is corrupted; maybe this is exactly what they were built to do. I can't say for sure."

" _More_ Lost Logia? How would they have even gotten here?" you ask.

She shrugs. "I have no idea. The Al-Hazardans could have put them here as a planetary defense system, but when they finally activated they couldn't distinguish friend from foe. They could be a relic of the Warring Ages, extinction machines that crash-landed on this planet for whatever reason. Same if they were made during the Unification War. There just is no telling for sure.

"Truthfully, how they got here isn't the issue. It's why they woke up and what to do about them."

What to do about them? Does that mean what you think it means? "Tell me if I'm wrong, but that sounds like you want to help fight them." Lanster nods, and a short war is waged within you before you warn her despite your worries. "Even after seeing the list of casualties? If you and Erga and the others join in, there is a good chance one or more of you will die."

"I know. That's the risk we take whenever we engage a Lost Logia. But it's also our job, what we have chosen to do. Even though we do our best to keep our interactions with worlds like yours to a minimum, an activated Lost Logia or three is reason enough for us to involve ourselves."

"And if they turn out not to be Lost Logia after all?"

"Then it is still a humanitarian effort, and one I don't think we can morally or ethically excuse ourselves from." She leans forward and looks squarely at you. "Taylor, I don't like the numbers I saw on the display in that museum. If I'm right, and I hope I'm wrong, your societies are failing in large measure due to the destruction being wrought by these things. If they are left unhindered, all societies on this world may well collapse, and after that…"

"And after that?" you ask when it is clear she doesn't want to continue. "Lanster. After that what?"

"After that, there will no longer be organized resistance. The human race on this world, and possibly on all worlds in this cluster, could very well face extinction."

You stare at her, no words coming to mind in the face of her prediction.

Lanster pops the last of her ice cream in her mouth. "I will discuss the matter with Admiral Tucson, but right now I'm giving the Endbringers a preliminary categorization as Class-2 Lost Logia due to the fact that as far as your people have determined their activities have been limited to this world. That will give us all the latitude we could possibly need to lend our aid."

Well then. As welcome as their assistance would be, you can't help but wonder how to arrange it. "I suppose I need to introduce you to the Protectorate, then," you think out loud. "Maybe you could pose as a new hero team? Or I could get back in touch with Alexandria—"

"I would prefer that you do not do that, actually," Lanster interrupts you. "Despite expanding the scope of our mission, it is still a covert operation. We do not intend to operate openly except during a fight against the Endbringers. We will not intervene in any other internal issues of your world, including law enforcement such as your Protectorate is involved in. Defeating and sealing the Endbringers is as far as our authority can or will go." She wipes her fingers off with a napkin and holds her hand out to you. "Can you accept that?"

You reach out and take her hand. "You're willing to help fight the Endbringers and save my planet. I don't think you understand just how much getting rid of them would mean to us. Thank you."

"Thank me when they're gone for good."

* * *

 **When you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail. In Teana's case, that means anything weird and world-threatening must be a Lost Logia running amok because really, what else could it possibly be? That being said, if you look at what the Book of Darkness's defense program looked like when it went all out, I can't blame her for this misconception.**


	119. Heatwave 9-19

**Um the Muse:** The very very VERY abbreviated definition of a Lost Logia is an ancient piece of magitech that goes nuts and starts causing trouble. That trouble can range between inconveniencing people to threatening human extinction on multiple dimensions. Endbringers aren't Lost Logia because they and Entities can't use mana and… Wait, no, that's basically it.

* * *

 **Heatwave 9.19**

 **Wednesday, June 22**

Steam tickles your face and wakes you up. A blink of your eyes shows a pool of water boiling away just a couple of inches away, and you look farther away to find the familiar form of Cassiel sitting at the edge of her island. "I wondered when I would get to talk to you again," you tell the little girl.

"I haven't been able to reach you lately," she says apologetically. "I needed to talk to you. Something happened to Dragon. I think… I think she's dead."

Those words are an arrow in your chest. "What? Dead? How? She was just fine yesterday!"

"You… saw her yesterday?" Cassiel asks with a surprised blink of her baby blue eyes. "I haven't been able to see her for almost a week."

"Oh. OH!" You shake your head and give her the most reassuring smile you can come up with in this desolate bedroom turned torture chamber. "No, no, she isn't dead. A friend of mine made something to help her. Maybe that's why you can't see her."

Cassiel mouths your words for a moment before the lightbulb turns on. "You gave her a physical body? She must like that."

"You knew she was an A.I.?" you demand in shock. You had assumed Cassiel had powerful clairvoyance in addition to her projection ability, but for her to glean enough information that she knew about Dragon's true nature is a step beyond your expectations.

"Mm-hmm. I'm happy for her. Her daddy put a lot of rules on her. If you moved her from a computer into a body, most of those are gone." She curls her arms up to her chest, the chains wrapped around her thin limbs clinking. "I'm happy for her, but I'm jealous, too. I know it's bad to be jealous of people, Mommy and Daddy said so, but I am."

Because now Dragon is free and she is still trapped here. That must be the source of her envy, and her power can't be helpful. If anything, it would only make her envy worse. Eyes that see for who knows how far, and yet she is chained and imprisoned by her own family. "Cassiel, where are you?" you ask. "Where is this place? If you tell me where it is, I can find you. I can free you."

"No! You can't!" she shouts. Her eyes are wide with terror. "Mommy and Daddy, they'd hurt you, or take control of you. And Grandmama…" A shudder wracks her tiny frame. "You don't want her finding you. She's dangerous. I can hide from her if I'm careful, but if she found out I could talk to people through her power… It'd be… bad."

"How bad?" Cassiel shakes her head, fear still obvious on her face. "Okay, different question. You said you can talk to people through her power. What _is_ her power?"

The little girl lowers her voice to a whisper. "She keeps people from seeing. Precogs can't find us. Far-seers can't find us. All anyone sees is her eyes, and then she's in their heads, seeing whatever they see."

That doesn't sound dangerous on its own, but from Cassiel's fear of her grandmother, you know there has to be a darker edge that she is hiding from you. Something about that power sounds familiar, though you can't put your finger on it.

"I almost wish I was in a computer," she says softly. "Then maybe you could do the same thing you did to Dragon."

The same thing you did to Dragon. Looking around at the walls and the painted ceiling, you have to wonder. You aren't really here; Cassiel pulled your consciousness out of your head and projected it into her room. Perfect Storm recognizes her ability as telepathy. Devices use telepathy for communication the same way radios and computers use electromagnetic waves.

Would it be possible? Could Tim build another Unison Device and link it to Perfect Storm so that the next time Cassiel contacts you, the Unison Device reverses the connection so Cassiel is pulled into the Device? It is outlandish in the extreme, but maybe, just maybe it could become reality.

"Cassie?" She looks up at the shortened version of her name. "I can't promise anything, but if we could do something for you like we did for Dragon, would you want us to?" Her nod is almost violent in its speed. "Even if it means there are two yous running around instead of pulling your mind into the new body?"

"Is that what happened to Dragon? Then why can't I see the old her anymore?"

"She…" How do you tell a little girl that Dragon deleted her previous iteration to keep the first her from trying to kill the second? "She did something to get rid of her backup data."

"She killed herself."

Clearly your dissembling needs work. She does not see the scowl on your face, but instead her attention is focused on the bubbling water that surround her. You don't like the ideas you can already see running through her mind. "I think I would still want to try it," she finally tells you. "Could—" Her eyes grow wide. "Grandmama's waking up. You have to go. Now!"

The connection shatters, and a faint squeal echoes in your ears unlike the other times you have spoken with Cassiel. Because she was hasty in breaking the connection? You have no way to know.

Opening your eyes to see the ceiling of your room, you renew your pledge to yourself. That girl needs to be saved one way or another.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

It is a gloomy day in New York City that you find when you teleport there, and Tim shivers despite his Hazard Jacket. He pulls the physical form tighter around himself and sighs when the top of his jumpsuit detaches and morphs into a coat. "You sure we can find the Adepts here?"

"It's where they were last time."

Walking down the stairwell into the building itself, you start to get a bad feeling about this. The last time you were here, this meeting hall of the Adepts was at least fully lit, the decor of an old-fashioned study scattered through the industrial design of the rest. Now? Most of the lights are off, turning the hallways into something out of a horror movie.

A thump comes from down the hall, and the hulking silhouette belonging to Maclibuin comes into view. "Oh, it's you," he says, a tired smile appearing on his face. "Come on in. Who's your friend?"

"Shipwright," Tim says with a wave, "one of Calamity Witch's teammates. You must be Maclibuin. We actually came to talk to you and Epoch if he's here."

"Yeah. Yeah, he's here." That leeches away most of the Brute's enthusiasm, and he waves for you to follow him.

The reason for Maclibuin's mood becomes obvious when you enter Epoch's office. "I'm sorry, but I'm really not in the best shape to entertain guests," he says as he tries to wrap up a large gash on his side. He wears neither robe nor shirt, not even a mask to hide his identity.

It takes a minute to find your words, your mind spinning through the possibilities that would explain what you're seeing and coming up with little definitive. "What happened?"

"Turns out Gevaudan's got a bit of an axe to grind. Just stop and let me do that," Maclibuin tells Epoch, batting his nominal superior's hands out of the way. Despite his enormous strength, his motions are surprisingly delicate as he dresses the wound. "This is why no one went to you when they got hurt. You have no clue what you're doing. Anyway, he decided that it would be great fun to tell what seems like every gang in New York that we're down to two people, and they took advantage of that just as he wanted them to. We never held much territory or got involved in a lot of the businesses most gangs do, but when people messed with us because we were 'those crazy capes', we trounced them again and again. They want to get back at us."

"How long has this been going on?" Samantha asks.

Epoch shrugs. "Not too long."

"A couple of weeks," corrects Maclibuin with a scolding glance at the other parahuman. "This isn't the first time you've gotten hurt, either. The longer this goes on, the less we can go out and punch back at them and the more we have to bunker down. We can't go on much longer—" A buzz fills the building, making both remaining Adepts look away in surprise. "That's new. No one's tried ringing the doorbell yet."

"Ah. That would be our last guest," you say with a forced smile. "Sam, would you?"

The raccoon-woman vanishes in a burst of light, and not ten seconds later she reappears with a cape wearing a grey bodysuit and a short mantle, a black hand painted on her chest. The woman pulls off the the half-mask that covers everything above her nose to reveal the noticeably less gothed-up but still recognizable face of Thirteenth Hour. "Epoch! Are you okay?"

"Well as could be expected, Thirteenth Hour. Or I suppose I should call you Standstill again, shouldn't I?" She opens her mouth, but he flicks his hand before she can say anything. "I didn't mean it like that. I don't blame you for going back to the Protectorate. We had a deal, and I couldn't fulfill my side of it. Just wish the timing was better is all."

Maclibuin tugs the gauze wrap just the tiniest bit harder than he necessarily has to. "What he's trying to say is that it's good to see you again, and while we're happy you weren't thrown in a cell we really could have used another set of hands recently."

She crosses one arm in front of herself to hold the opposite elbow, her body language not even apologetic but ashamed. "Because of all the gangs coming after you. I know. I wanted to come, but every time I suggested it I was shut down and sent on a patrol on the other end of the island. Legend said he was concerned that if I went to help you, I'd _'fall back into bad habits'_."

"Um, Epoch?" The time-manipulator looks up at Tim's tentative question. "Calamity told me that you previously gathered the Adepts together because you could thought you could feel magic. Why haven't you tried recruiting more potential mages and refill your ranks that way?"

Epoch shakes his head. "It's… hard to trust what I thought was an ability to sense magical talent when it was proven to be so inaccurate. I'd be making more enemies than allies when they found out they don't in fact have magic, and enemies are something I have too many of right now, thank you. Is that why you've come and brought your friend with you, Calamity Witch?"

"Yeah. I wanted to talk to you and, well, give you your options." You stop and frown. "Not that I'm complaining, but from what you said, Lilliput is gone for good?" You expected him to head back to Florida where his previous gang was located, but you don't know that for sure.

"We have seen neither hide nor hair of him since the last time you were here."

You nod at Maclibuin's confirmation and pull a chair out for yourself. Samantha moves to stand right behind you, and Tim settles himself to your side. "Just the three of you then. Okay. I take it you're still interested?"

Three nods follow that apparently stupid question.

"If you want to use magic the way I do, you have three basic options. First, I can give you what's called a template. It's essentially a prepackaged set of spells that you, well, remember would be the best way to describe it. It's weird at first, and it has a pretty steep learning curve because the spells can sometimes sneak up on you, but the Device you get with it will help out with the heavy lifting in the beginning. You only have a couple of options you can pick from, though, and what you get is what you get. There's a Blaster template like mine, a close-combat Brute or Striker template, a support-type which I'm pretty sure has healing spells and I expect some other abilities I'm not fully aware of, and a Tinker-style magical engineer template."

"The fourth one is the template I chose," Tim says. "I have no complaints about picking it, but Calamity is right that it takes getting used to. The other option is that I can build you a Device that doesn't have all the built-in spells a template would, though I can calibrate it so it will be easier to use certain spells that you really want to learn. The Devices follow a similar trend to the templates: a staff or gun-like Intelligent Device for long-range spells, an Armed Device with short-range spells to supplement physical attacks, a Boost Device for backline support, or a more general Storage Device that can do a little bit of everything but isn't great at anything and is incompatible with some of the higher level magics."

 _"Clarification."_ You look to your staff at Perfect Storm's interruption. _"Sufficient magical power grants greater breadth of spell choice beyond initial purpose of Device. Example: close combat spells with Intelligent Device. Linker Core rank A or higher required."_

"So just me, then," Epoch says with a frown. "That knowledge is… less exciting than I thought it would be."

"The last option is that we teach you some magic without giving you any template or Device. I do need to warn you that there is a good chance you'll lose the powers you already have if you want a template or a Device, so if you're super-attached to your powers this might be the way to go." You hold up your hands when it looks like all three of the capes are about to shout at you. "We don't know for sure that taking a template or Device will cause you to lose your current powers, but we have enough evidence that we and Dragon, who's also in the know about magic, think it's more likely than not. We haven't exactly tested it to be sure, though."

The three remaining Adepts are quiet for a long minute as they think about their options, and it is Maclibuin who speaks up first. "You said we'd lose our powers if we get something to help us with magic. What about the spells we already know? Epoch's flight, my enchanting?"

"I've wondered about that myself," Samantha cuts in. "How sure are you that your enchanting actually works? We aren't real parahumans, so we haven't been able to verify it."

Well, you could have, you think to yourself. You could have let Vista touch the statue the Adepts gave you and see if she noticed any changes. No need for them to know you didn't think of that until just now.

Epoch and Standstill both nod. "I know for a fact it works," the former gang leader says. "My ability lets me reverse, fast-forward, or pause time for ten seconds. No longer. Do you remember when we first talked and you asked how I convinced Standstill to join us while her partner was paused?" You slowly nod. "It is because of the enchantment. I tapped into everything my charm had, and as a result I was able to freeze him for a full two minutes. It had to be recharged once I did so, but the limits of my power is well-known to the Protectorate. Something else had to be in play for that to happen."

"It was an effective demonstration," agrees Standstill.

You turn to your Intelligent Device and expert on all things template. "Storm?"

 _"Installation of template changes subject on magical and genetic level. Changed Linker Core renders individually created spell difficult or impossible to cast without significant experimentation."_

"That sounds like a good argument against a template, then," Maclibuin says with a sigh. "I do appreciate the offer, Calamity Witch, but those aren't for me. A Device? That I could work with. And…" He looks at his hands. "Getting my powers saved my life, but afterwards they created just as many problems as they solved. Most Brutes can control their strength, can go about doing their normal thing until they need to stop a runaway train or something. I can't. When you can't even reach out and shake someone's hand without spending all your time thinking about how careful you have to be not to hurt them accidentally… My powers have served me well, but it would be a lie to say I wouldn't mind getting rid of them."

Epoch lays a hand on Maclibuin's arm and gives it a quick squeeze. "I also have a concern. As much as I may have sounded like I was belittling it earlier, I too gained my power at great expense. I hope you'll forgive me for saying that I would prefer not to lose it unless I get something equally valuable from the exchange. A template sounds like it would be sufficient, or perhaps just expanding my powers without technologic assistance. A focus by itself I am less enthused with."

"With the strength of your magic, you would have more options than the others do," Samantha reminds him. "A wide spread of abilities would probably be more valuable than just manipulating time. Not to mention, if there is any chance to go for the experienced and well read wizard motif, this would be it."

That reasoning gets a laugh out of him. "True."

 _"Also possess Regenerator gene line. Genetic manipulation inherent to template installation irreversibly removes Rare Skills."_

"I appreciate the warning, Mr. Storm, but I don't use this Rare Skill of yours anyway. It may offer a few additional options, but I would not miss it if it were taken away."

"Um." Everyone looks at Standstill, who is shuffling on her feet. "I know this is a really bad reason to make my decision, but if I lose my powers, the Protectorate would force me to rebrand, and that's a pretty big undertaking. I might be forced to move to another city, and even if I stay here I'd be out of action for months until all the PR people have a plan for how to go about it. They already aren't happy with me for leaving. You said my magic wasn't super-strong like Epoch's, so just accepting a Device… isn't worth it? If those templates are as powerful as you say they are, that might be worth the effort, or just keeping my current powers and picking up an extra trick or two." She smiles faintly. "Not that my powers are great by themselves. It's why I accepted Epoch's offer in the first place, to get a boost to my powers or let me use them without knocking myself out in the process."

Samantha hums and scratches her hairline. "Sounds like you need a protector more than a power boost. Someone to guard you while you're unconscious."

"That… Yeah. That actually sounds pretty cool."

« _You want to teach her how to summon a Guardian Beast?_ » you ask your partner. « _If she does that, there's a good chance the Protectorate will notice similarities between you and the one she creates and start asking uncomfortable questions._ »

« _This Case 53 misdirection was never going to last. It has served its purpose as far as I'm concerned. From what you said, Alexandria has already figured it out and didn't say anything about it, so who can say that anything will be done to me when the truth does come out? The worst that happens is they say I am a thing without rights, and that would be an interesting lawsuit to bring to the courts, I think. I'm more concerned with whether teaching her how to make another of my kind would be possible. Storm, what are your thoughts on the matter?_ »

« _Linker Core of Standstill strong enough to create and support Guardian Beast. Not strong enough to perform other spells should she do so without Device to maximize efficiency of spellcasting._ »

You share a look with Samantha, and another with Tim. "Okay. How about this…"

* * *

 **The vote that followed, which was what kind of magical assistance to give each character, went about how I expected it to. Not entirely, but close.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	120. Heatwave 9-20

_You share a look with Samantha, and another with Tim. "Okay. How about this…"_

 **Heatwave 9.20**

"Samantha, could you take Standstill out for a little talk? Tell her about just what creating a Guardian Beast entails?" If the raccoon-lady wants to spill the beans about creating new sapient life, she gets to do the deed. It isn't exactly a punishment, though, and Samantha just gives you a quick smile before leading the heroine out the door. It will take Standstill time to find an appropriate animal, so helping her out with the spell is something else you'll have to pencil into your social calendar.

That leaves the two remaining members of the Adepts, and you look back and forth between them. Epoch is the easier of the two; him you will help with casting a few spells without assistance. Giving him a template is a possibility, but you remember how long creating Tim's template took, and if you plan to be out of action for that long, you are going to be a little selfish about it. Giving it to somebody you like and who likes you, for instance, rather than a friendly acquaintance. It's just a matter of what spell you'll share.

"Okay, Epoch," you finally admit after wracking your brain, "I'm kind of at a loss for what to teach you. What do you want to learn? What kind of magic really fires up your imagination?"

Epoch thinks for a moment before running his hands through his short red hair. "Do you know what the best part of my power is?" he asks in lieu of answering you, though at least he continues on without waiting for a response. "It is flexible. If I need to fight defensively with it, I can. If I need to fight offensively with it, I can, though it isn't quite as good on that score. Hence the mana shot I was working on when I first found out about you. If I need to keep people from dying with it, as I did during the Behemoth fight, I can.

"That's what I want from magic personally. Even if forgoing your Device limits what I can do – especially in that scenario – I want something that I can use for all sorts of purposes."

Flexible, adaptable? A smile alights on your face as you realize you have what he wants. "So something like this?" you ask as you call upon your telekinesis and lift a few odds and ends from the first aid kit into the air.

His eyes fill with naked need. "Yes. Exactly like that."

"I think we can do that. I'll need to spend some time working through it with you because telekinesis is an understandably complicated spell, but if you can get a good handle on it I doubt you'll be disappointed. Between that, flight, and a Shooter, you'll be pretty well rounded." Your promise leaves Epoch satisfied, and you turn to the hardest of the three to figure out.

Maclibuin, his unique spell, and his utter refusal to give it up.

Tim clears his throat. "Maclibuin, I know it's not entirely my business, but I'd like to clarify something. When you said you wouldn't mind losing your current parahuman powers, were you saying that because you're ambivalent about them, or was it because you actively dislike them?"

"How'd you guess?" the hulking giant asks with a sad smile.

"A few different things. For all that you're a Brute, what you focused on is a spell that is meant to enhance parahumans' powers, and not only that, it's one I doubt you would get much use out of. Sure, there are bound to be people out there who can out-punch and out-last you, but they're all Brutes too, and most capes aren't. Plus there was the way you were dressing Epoch's wound. Even your name." You stare at him hard enough that he looks your way. "Hammerstroke, what you told me his name was before joining the Adepts? That's a Brute-worthy name. But Maclibuin? When I looked it up, I thought it was just you picking a random folklore name out of a hat, but you chose it deliberately, didn't you? Not a hero, not a strongman, but a smith. A creator."

"I honestly didn't expect many people to figure that one out," Maclibuin says quietly. "My powers… I got them when I needed them, and they were the solution to the problem I had at the time, but after that they have played the role of another cage as often as they did a key to set me free. If I could choose my powers rather than have them develop spontaneously, they would not be what I have today."

"No, I don't think they would be. You would have chosen healing powers, I expect, or some other kind of enhancing ability as you did when you were tapping into your magic." The ex-hero nods. Tim taps on the corner of the goggles hanging around his neck, and several screens pop up around him, all featuring jewelry of some kind or another. "Well, Maclibuin, I think I can give you what you want. A Boost Device, a Device that is specialized for support mages. Give me your phone number, and when I get the time to build it, we can talk about exactly how you want the programming and inherent talents slanted. You'll be a Brute and a frontline fighter no longer once I'm done with you."

The joy on Maclibuin's face is so bright that it just has to be sincere, as is the squeeze on the shoulder Epoch gives him. "Does that mean we can actually quit buying the most expensive first aid kits you can find?" Epoch jokes, breaking the serious mood and making you roll your eyes.

Maclibuin snorts. "Just for that? No healing spells on you. You get to recover the old fashioned way."

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

 **Thursday, June 23**

Orange light dances along the walls before the brilliant blur resolves into Samantha and Missy. "Wow, this looks new," the younger heroine says, looking around at the smooth concrete.

"Welcome to Canada. Probably would be more impressive had Taylor not taken you on a world tour already," Tim says with a teasing look at you, "but oh well. Dragon is loaning me some workshop space and materials. How are you doing, Vista?"

"Not bad. No pain at all." She moves her stump around in multiple directions. "See?"

"Not bad, not bad." He pushes and prods on her shoulder. "No pain with this? Good. How are things going otherwise?"

"Good enough, I suppose. Assault told Chevalier and Miss Militia about Gush's identity, so I've been kept at base this whole week. They're worried about the same thing you were, I guess," she says with a resigned shrug.

You share a quick glance with Tim, and he turns to the side to pull a metal suitcase close. "I have something that might cheer you up. You're healing a little faster than I expected, so it shouldn't be an issue for you to get this a couple of days early."

Her eyes grow wide. "Is that…?"

He opens the case and turns it toward her. If he wanted this to slip under the radar, he failed miserably. The back and palm of the hand, the back of the forearm, and a little bit all around the wrist are a dark hunter green, but the fingers and the rest of the arm are plated with what looks like bright, polished chrome. There are no hints of the particle cannon or energy shield you know are there, but on the knuckles themselves are ridges of dull grey steel, presumably to go along with the enhanced strength of her arm and synthetic muscles.

You shoot a flat look in his direction, though he does not see it. You just know that when he was designing it, he envisioned her walking through a burning building or something, the light of the flames reflecting eerily off the shiny surface.

Missy does not seem to mind that at all, and she jabs her stump at him in wordless demand that he attach it. A thick band at the base of the arm fans out and reveals itself to be multiple plates of metal that cover her stump and shoulder before they constrict and wrap around her comparatively delicate fleshy bits. It moves through the start-up sequence that you think Tim plans to program into all his arms. When it is her own to move, she takes a second to wave it around. "It's heavier than it was, I can feel that, but I'm not having any issues with it. My shoulder wasn't this strong even a minute ago."

"That's because I put a strength limiter in the synthetic muscles in your chest and back. All the prosthetics send a feedback signal, which is how you get the sense of touch, but there needs to be a specific segment of code within that signal for the muscles to use their full strength. This arm is the only one that sends that code. If you had access to Brute strength all the time, you'd wind up breaking your civilian prosthetic by accident."

"So it's like a lock and a key," she summarizes. "Makes sense."

A length of steel pipe lays next to where the briefcase was, and without warning he picks it up and throws it at her. Reflexes honed from years of fighting parahumans and training in hand-to-hand combat kick in to let her catch it. She stares at him in confusion before a look of comprehension crosses her face, and seemingly without effort the pipe is crushed from the strength in her fingers. She then brings her arm up and down to drive the flat end of the pipe into the concrete floor before grabbing another section of the pipe and bending it into a U-shape.

"I have to be careful hitting people with this, aren't I?" is the question she finally asks as she looks at the mutilated pipe from different angles. "When you said it would give me a Brute's strength, you weren't kidding."

"No, I wasn't, and yes, you do. It is possible for you not to engage all the muscle fibers, but you'll need practice. Until you have a… well, a good grasp of it," he says with a too-amused smile, "it's probably best that you stick with how you normally fight and rely on the shield and _very occasionally_ the particle cannon."

The reminder of that weapon catches her attention. "How do I use that, anyway? Just so I know whenever I need to bring out the big boom."

"I had Dragon set up a shooting range. We'll run through the movements you need to deploy the shield and the cannon, then you can take a few shots. I do need to warn you, though, you can't waste your 'rounds' frivolously. They take too much power for your generator to supply on demand, so I set up a capacitor bank. You get five shots before it has to recharge for a couple of hours."

Samantha clears her throat and taps her wrist. "I guess that's my cue to leave. I need to head over to that meeting Jotunn's organizing."

"You too?" Missy says with a disappointed pout. "Chevalier and Sere are going to that. I offered to go as Chevalier's second since my power is miles away better if everything goes south and he needs to arrest the villains or retreat, but apparently I'm _'much too young'_ to be allowed to participate. Chevalier wasn't as rude about it as Sere, but he still agreed with it." The fingertips of her prosthetic clink when she clenches them in a tight fist. "It's like they don't want to remember that hey, I have years of experience dealing with villains. I'm not a clumsy and half-trained _kid_ like Flambé and Cherry Bomb."

"I thought you liked your teammates?" asks Samantha.

Missy lets out an aggravated huff. "Personally, they're fine. Nice enough, even if we don't have much in common. Professionally? If we got in a real fight, I wouldn't trust them to watch my back because they have no idea what they're supposed to do. Not that we're allowed to get in real fights unless there's no other choice." She ruffles her hair. "It's been nice to have Clockblocker around for a while, that's for sure. He's been going just as crazy over in Chicago as I have here."

You have nothing to say to that, and thankfully Tim leads her away to the shooting range. "Is it just me, or is she getting less and less patient with the Protectorate?"

"It's not just you, though you are probably part of the reason." You stare at Samantha in surprise. "Let's be honest. Brockton Bay was a hellhole. Vista is used to being treated like a mini-Protectorate hero, deployed to get into fights with villains. Here she's being sheltered and protected, which is not what she wants and runs counter to the identity she has built for herself. Then you come in. You're a fellow Brocktonite, you get into fights without anybody telling you what you can or can't do, and then lo and behold, you're only a couple of years older than she is." She shrugs. "You have the life she wants, or at least that she thinks she wants, and it isn't what she's getting from the Protectorate and PRT."

"Maybe I should have brought her with me to the meeting and had you waiting here on standby."

Samantha shakes her head. "Bad idea. Unless you want to pull the Protectorate's tail. Taking Vista as your plus-one sends a clear signal that you plan to poach her from them, and not only would you be telling the Protectorate, you'd also be advertising that to the other villains there. That's a great way to sour a good working relationship."

"Even if it's what she wants?" you point out. You would not be adverse to Missy joining your team if she decided to leave the Wards. She's fun to hang out with, she has a great power, and she knows what she's doing.

"Keep in mind that Vista isn't just a Ward in her cape identity. Missy Biron is also the ward of Miss Militia's secret ID. She probably lives on the base, which means she would have nowhere to live if she cut ties like that, and even if Lacey agreed to take her in, she would still be a runaway. That's a legal mess I'd rather we not jump into without thinking everything through."

"I thought you were interested in legal fights," you say as you think back to her bold declaration yesterday.

"When it only affects me and risks rights I don't hold that dear anyway? Sure. When it affects somebody else and risks their way of life? Not so much."

« _Mistress plans to attend meeting still?_ » reminds Perfect Storm, and you sigh. You'll have to table this discussion for another time. Right now, you need to head out.

Just like when everyone met during the gang war, it is the Marriott Hotel's conference room that was chosen to host this discussion. If the white faces and jerky motions are any indication, the capes' presence is no more welcome now than it was a month ago. You nevertheless tip your hat at the staff in the lobby when you and Samantha walk past them to join the six capes already present.

Seated close to you is Chevalier, and as Missy mentioned his right side is occupied by Sere. Four villains are sitting at the other end of the table, although the three seats between the two pairs is all the proof you need to know that even if everyone is at the same table, no one is on the same side. Cinderella is there with Sleeping Beauty as her second in command. The Fairyland gang doesn't have any other capes they could have brought, but Sleeping Beauty's song is a powerful weapon in such cramped quarters, where no one would be able to escape being put to sleep or charmed into her service. That, you decide, is likely the same reason Chevalier brought Sere: area control.

It makes a very interesting contrast to Jotunn's choice of Pounce as his subordinate.

The cat-themed speedster waves a paw-like glove at you, and Jotunn gives you an oily smile before waving a blue hand at the table. "Ah, Calamity Witch." Chevalier turns to look at you with some surprise, and you give him a tight smile before taking a seat two chairs down from him. Close enough that you don't look standoffish; far enough away that maybe he'll figure out that you are somewhat miffed at him for not telling you about this meeting himself. "Cailleach mentioned she had run into you. Now that we are all here, I believe we can begin."

"You did not send an invitation to Vortex?" asks Chevalier in a polite voice.

Pounce shrugs. "He's dead. Got in a fight with the Revengers. Nobody's seen Slo-Mo since. They're done as a gang."

"That is, in fact, why I called this meeting. Not Vortex or the Revengers specifically, of course, but the bigger picture." Jotunn leans back in his seat. "Six weeks ago, Philadelphia was stable. Not completely at peace – we had our squabbles, and there was the matter of Typhon and his monstrosities – but stable.

"That is all gone now. The Warlocks murdered to a man, the various members of MS-13 rightfully captured or driven out of the city for their actions. Their absence has created a void, and other gangs have taken advantage of that power vacuum. The Revengers, the Baxter Tower Five, the Rabid Rave, the Stonebreakers, and all the rest. They will only stop once we have made it clear that their advances will not be tolerated."

Cinderella rolls her eyes. "Like that isn't what we're already doing."

"It is," he agrees, "but we have been working independently. That is what I would like to propose we change."

"As the leader of our branch of the Protectorate, I can't help but be insulted at the lack of faith in our ability to keep this city safe," Chevalier says, his wry tone no doubt the result of knowing exact who he is speaking to.

"I do not mean to belittle your abilities, merely your numbers. Our city has always been an outlier in regards to cape population, partly due to more attractive locations like Boston and New York and Brockton Bay and partly due to what I truly believe is a smaller number of Trigger events than the average. It is that very fact that now has us on the back foot.

"Unless your reinforcements plan to be permanent transfers, your team consists of three heroes and three Wards who should not be fighting unless there is legitimately no better option." You hold back a smile at the thought of what Vista would say about that, but Jotunn turns to you anyway. "The Privateers, meanwhile, have only you and Samantha, plus some unpowered members who, if I may be so bold, are painting themselves as part of the problem rather than the solution."

That wipes the smile off your face, and you go ahead and bite the bullet. "Samantha and I are no longer part of the Privateers. We couldn't stay considering the direction some of them chose to walk."

The princess-themed villains both snort at that, but Jotunn just nods. "I see. I applaud your moral fiber, though I am sorry it cost you so. Thus there are only five heroes who can be counted on to stand up to the invaders. Other independents have been inconsistent in their response to our situation, and therefore I do not count them among your number."

You have been inconsistent too, you are tempted to point out. Was that the reason you only heard about this meeting as an afterthought when you talked to Laura? Or were you included because even though you had other matters to worry about, you are still one of the most powerful capes in the city?

"We are not much better prepared on our side of the law, either," he continues. "Myself, Pounce, Cailleach, and Solaire. Some Tinkers can contribute in a fight, but Angel Dust is not one of them. Fairyland has only two currently, three if we include Snow White despite being in the PRT's custody."

"If she's still alive." Cinderella turns a sneer in you. "Or did you go back and finish the job your boys started?"

You can feel Samantha tensing up to leap over the table if it becomes necessary, but you put on your best attempt at a politician's smile. "Had I wanted her dead, I would have just left her there to bleed out on the ground. Taking her to the Protectorate was the only way to save her life."

"You know very well that this is Snow White's first strike," adds Chevalier. "She will have a trial before her peers, and then once she serves her sentence she will be released to continue her life. She is not in danger of being sent to the Birdcage. If you were to turn yourselves in, I would be happy to convince the D.A. to offer a plea bargain to all of you."

"Not gonna happen," Sleeping Beauty says.

Jotunn grows a foot taller and holds out his hands at both groups. "Ladies. Gentleman. Now is not the time to fight among ourselves. Just the opposite. What we need to do is to pool our strengths. Five heroes or seven villains are not enough to maintain peace in our home. Twelve capes working together?" He shrinks back down to his previous size. "That is another story entirely."

"That better be an offer to swap sides," Sere says with a mocking laugh, "because if you're asking for us to ignore your crimes, you're barking up the wrong tree."

"You know, I would not be entirely adverse to switching over to the white hats." Everyone stares at Jotunn, even Pounce. "However, I am a businessman at the end of the day. I have a family to provide for. As soon as you can match our income, let me know, and I'll bring the rest of Winter Hill with me."

From his smile and Sere's scowl, you can tell that will never happen. How much does Winter Hill bring in each year? Millions of dollars? Tens of millions? Despite being a government agency, there is no way the PRT has that much money to throw away.

"But getting back to what is feasible. I will not ask for the impossible and ask for amnesty. I ask for _prioritization_. We and Fairyland do our best to limit ourselves to nonviolent crimes, and we want Philadelphia to be safe just as much as you do. Our newcomers cannot say the same, and so it makes sense to apply your resources to where they will do the best good."

"This is an intriguing proposition, Jotunn, I'll give you that," Chevalier says after a minute, "but I can't help but notice that it all benefits you. A free pass to continue your drug trade, a chance to gloat that you have the Protectorate dancing to your tune. And in exchange for what? I may not be a businessman like you claim to be, but even I know that negotiations only work if both parties get something."

That wipes the smirk off the villain's face. "Is the safety of the the city not reward enough? I thought you nobler than that, Chevalier. I am offering to actively lend you our assistance in fights against the gangs coming in. Collaboration and exchange of information. You would effectively be quadrupling the size of your department for free."

"Free? Not hardly. You are not asking for cash, but that is still far from free." He stands, Sere rising with him. He watches the gang leader for a moment before continuing. "I appreciate that you called this meeting, Jotunn. I do. But at the same time, you ask for more than I'm comfortable giving you right now. I propose a compromise. We start with the free exchange of information. If a cape belonging to Winter Hill or Fairyland comes to the PRT office and says they have information they need to share with the Protectorate, they will be treated as though a Truce is in effect until five minutes after they leave the building. In that time span, they will not be followed or tracked. Afford us the same courtesy if one of us comes to you." The armored knight holds up a finger. "If we can maintain civility in this, we can revisit this idea of relative amnesty at a later date."

Jotunn's face is expressionless for several tense seconds before he gives Chevalier a slow nod. "Very well. I hope your excessive caution does not hurt the people under your care in the meantime. The five minutes you propose begin when we all leave here."

"Agreed. Pounce, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty. Have a good evening. Calamity Witch, Samantha." He tilts his head towards you. "A pleasure as always. We will take our leave."

The Fairyland contingent stands when the other heroes are gone, and the looks on their faces give you little hope they plan to respect any pseudo-Truce. Cinderella stops at your end of the table and gives you a murderous glare. "Jotunn may be too chicken-shit to call you out, but I'm not. You and your boys want to start pulling shit like you did with Snow? You better watch your backs. We're gonna get her out, and we're gonna make you pay."

The prissy princesses storm off, and you look back to see Jotunn's angry and embarrassed expression. "This deal you and Chevalier agreed to? Somehow I don't think they're going to play ball."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	121. Heatwave 9-21

**Heatwave 9.21**

 **Friday, June 24**

"Tim! Come in, come in. What brings you out this way?"

The magi-Tinker gives Lacey a smile. "Curiosity, mainly. Hey Taylor." You wave back at him. "After going to see the Adepts, I've been wondering more and more about all the background information we have been working without. Where Perfect Storm came from, how it does what it does. Stuff like that."

" _Pleased to offer information,"_ your Device announces with just a little pride in its synthesized voice.

"Where it came from?" Now Lacey is looking at the jewel around your neck. "I honestly hadn't really stopped to think about that. By the time I could sit down and wonder, I guess I had gotten so used to you wearing it that it didn't even strike me as odd anymore. Now I'm curious, too."

You smile, but then the complexity of the issue raises its ugly head. "We _might_ need to give you a quick bit of background on that first…"

All in all, you think Lacey takes the news of extradimensional humans fairly well.

"…What the fuck?"

…Mostly.

Tim leads her to the couch so he can sit on one side of her while Samantha takes the other. She has to blink a few times, but when her eyes are clear, she focuses on the blue necklace lying on the table. "So," she says slowly and almost cautiously, "you're from outer space?"

" _Correct. Designed and manufactured on planet Galea."_

A screen appears, showing a planet from just outside its own orbit, and all of you lean in. It doesn't look too different from Earth, you have to admit, though with more water or perhaps just smaller and more plentiful patches of green and brown. "It's beautiful. Is the planet all islands like this?"

" _Galea 80% ocean, 20% landmass. Largest continent approximate size of Earth Bet's Australia. Location of Lunar Palace and Nix, capitol of Galea following full colonization of dark side of the planet."_

"…Dark side of the planet."

The image of Galea shrinks to show its revolution around its sun. As the planet moves, it does not rotate the way Earth did but instead keeps the same set of islands and mini-continents facing the star the entire time. _"Rotation and revolution same length, plus-minus eighty microcycles. Roughly eleven Earth Bet seconds. Light side of planet desert due to heat and lesser protection against solar radiation compared to Earth Bet. Dark side cold and semi-barren, native life forms limited to non-photosynthetic flora and bioluminescent fauna. Humans initially formed small tribal groups in temperate twilight zone. Expansion to dark side and later light side of planet infeasible until arrival of explorers from Al-Hazard and introduction of proto-Device technology. Prior to such point, magic only occasionally utilized, primarily in early and poorly understood gene modification, bombardment rituals, and psychic domestication of native predators for warfare with other tribes."_

"I'm going to take a shot in the dark and guess Galeans were the first to figure out how to create Guardian Beasts, weren't they?" asks Samantha, startling Lacey who is reminded that yes, this supposed Case 53 she has gotten used to having around is actually an artificial life form.

" _Initial uplifting protocol developed by civilization assimilated by Al-Hazard, but mages of Galea refined and distributed process to extent that reportedly surprised Al-Hazardan priesthood. Mistress's suggestion to assist in mass creation of Guardian Beasts via global communications system or autonomous Device much in line with Galean tradition."_

Tim raises his hand then sheepishly lowers it, caught up in the moment and forgetting that despite the history lesson he was no longer a schoolboy. "Taylor mentioned a period called the Warring Ages. Was this Al-Hazard the one that started it, or an ally of Galea at the time, or what?"

" _Incorrect. Al-Hazard destroyed in dimensional cataclysm multiple centuries before initiation of hostilities._

" _Time period classified as Warring Ages began during extradimensional expansion of Galean Empire. Naval vessel of nearby Molse Conglomerate encountered and fired upon outpost belonging to world Belka. Unclear if firing accidental, purposeful, or manufactured propoganda. Belkan army fought and defeated Molsan ship with inferior numbers, and Belkan Empire thereafter attempted invasion, subjugation, or extermination of all worlds encountered. Galea first made aware of actions by attacked colony. Other imperial pretenders also initiated hostilities, leading to multi-front campaigns and unstable alliances."_

"How long?" Lacey asks, finally speaking up. "How long did this last?"

Perfect Storm hesitates. _"Undetermined. Immortal Assimilation Engine deactivated following usurpation of Galean throne. Reactivated only when found by mages initially believed to be Belkan scientists. Unaware scientists and marines citizens of TSAB until discussion with Enforcers."_

"My turn to ask a question now." This is something that has been floating around in the back of your mind for a while, and it is more than slightly embarrassing that it has taken you this long to ask. "You told me a long time ago that my template, Calamity Witch, was based off a real person. What was she like? Are all the templates named after famous people?"

" _Only Calamity Witch and Extinction Knight templates derived from individuals. Infinite Enhancement and Transcendent Gadgeteer collection of memories and capabilities tied to individual Linker Cores. Current skill sets not identical to originals. Much refinement and addition over centuries of use."_

You look over at Tim, but if he is disappointed that his template doesn't have a special history, it doesn't show on his face.

" _Calamity Witch origin, birth name Orianna Brevetti. Genetically engineered Galean bombardment mage in service to Dark Queen Lucrezia II. Highly decorated veteran, many successful missions against Belkan invaders. Sole bearer of Flare Mana Conversion Affinity. Died without issue. Bodyguard and lover of future Dark Queen Eleonora V. Brevetti volunteered as basis of Immortal Assimilation Engine bombardment template, and Dark Queen Eleonora signed imperial edict that template bear her call sign."_

There is something wistful in Perfect Storm's voice, and you can't help but ask, "How are you doing with all this, Storm? Do you believe what the Enforcers told us, that Galea is gone?"

" _Historical texts provided to Mistress comprehensive. High degree of consistency. Deception possible, but probability small. Conclusion: Galea indeed destroyed. I… grieve."_ You lay a hand on the jewel, doing the best you can to comfort the machine that is your closest friend. _"Primary purpose: support Galean Empire against Belkans. Galea destroyed. Belka destroyed. Primary purpose lost. Secondary purpose: protect Mistress, assist in defeat of villains. Completion of secondary purpose yet possible. Much gratitude to Mistress."_

Despite her initial doubts and surprised disbelief, Lacey seems to be getting more interested in the conversation as the information comes pouring in. It makes you wonder. Now that she knows your magic has an extraterrestrial origin, is she less interested? Has she thought about it and changed her mind about not wanting a template? You planned on saving the next template you make for someone you can trust to have your back, and Lacey has proven that she is more than willing to do that, even when it sets her against her own husband.

« _Lacey,_ » you whisper, but she nevertheless jumps at the sound of your voice in her head. « _It's okay. It's just me, Taylor. I wanted to ask you something, but I didn't know if you would want Tim and Sam hearing it just yet._ »

« _Is… how… …trol th… me?_ »

You couldn't understand a word of that. Thinking back to the advice Perfect Storm and Samantha gave you once upon a time – and by that, you mean just a few months ago – you tell her, « _Pretend like you're talking out loud to me, just don't open your mouth._ »

« _Can you hear me now?_ » You give her a smile and a nod. Her telepathy is a whisper, but you can make out the words, which is good enough for the moment. « _What did you want to ask?_ »

« _Do you remember back when I gave Tim his template? I offered it to both of you. He was interested in magic, but you didn't sound like you were. Not right then, anyway. Have you thought about it any more since?_ »

She shrugs, distracting Samantha for a moment before the Guardian Beast goes back to asking questions about Galean entertainment. Maybe Samantha is trying to cheer Perfect Storm up? « _Not really, I guess? I don't like fighting. If learning magic means I'd have to, I'm not really that interested._ »

« _You wouldn't_ have _to fight, though. Tim doesn't fight with his template, and the Infinite Enhancement template Storm was talking about is for a support mage. It's all about giving boosts and healing to other people. Or you could ask Tim to make you a Device for a similar purpose. It's what he promised to one of the prospective mages we met up with a couple of days ago. He didn't want to fight, either._ »

A contemplative look passes over her face. « _That doesn't sound so bad—_ »

The front door bangs open, and Perfect Storm leaps into your hand without hesitation. Your Device's vigilance is unnecessary, as it turns out. It isn't villains or an angry mob that comes through the door. Just a single man, cheeks covered in stubble and shirt covered in rips and dirt and blood.

"Kurt! What happened?!"

For all that they were on the outs before this, Kurt immediately falls into his wife's embrace. "They're gone. Vince. Charlie. Ramirez. Max. They're all gone."

"Gone?" Tim steps up and pulls Kurt straight. "What do you mean, gone?"

He shakes his head slowly and with a pained grimace, as though his thoughts are jagged pieces of glass that he's trying to fit back together. "We went out tonight. Me and the guys. We thought we had picked up a trail on Fairyland's hideout. It was a trap. They were waiting for us. The regular crooks had guns, and Cinderella kept throwing more and more glass at us. I watched them _die_ , Tim. Charlie was the first; they shot him before we had any clue what was going on. Ramirez got a big shard of glass right in his head. They all died." His voice breaks as a shudder runs down his spine. "The only reason I'm still alive is because Vince fell on top of me. I couldn't get up and keep fighting. I couldn't. I was too scared. Once they thought we were all dead, they left, and I still couldn't get up for a while longer. Big John was the only one still breathing, but he could barely walk out of there with me."

 _Damn_. Dull surprise is the only emotion that fills your mind. You knew the more militant members of the Privateers were headed for trouble. You didn't think it would be quite so swift and sudden.

Tim gnaws on his bottom lip for a long minute. "Kurt, we need to tell somebody about this. The PRT, at the very least the other guys."

"I already did." His laughter is mocking, and he leans back into Lacey's embrace. "I told the rest of the team. I didn't realize how much we had torn ourselves apart before now, but this was the final straw. Carl and Alexander wanted no part of this mess and said they were walking away from it all. Everyone else followed.

"We're done, Tim. The Privateers are finished."

* * *

 **Just so everyone knows, the history lesson Perfect Storm gave about the Warring Ages may or may not be entirely accurate. He's just a** _ **little**_ **biased. The players wanted to ask Perfect Storm several barely related questions, which is why there's a little bit of information on multiple subjects but nothing really in-depth.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	122. Heatwave 9-x

**Heatwave 9.x**

 **Dienstag, 21 Brahmanod, Year 0080**

" _I take it your idea was a success?"_

Teana nodded at Admiral Tucson's question. "Yes sir. Taylor was more at ease on her own world and no longer in uniform and opened up about some of the details that she otherwise would have been more circumspect about. I also had Cross Mirage take images of all the displays and text plaques, which will give us more background information on Earth Bet-12."

" _Very good. And your primary objective? Have you figured out what these Endbringers are?"_

"Not for sure, obviously, but as much as I can. My analysis is in the full report I sent you, but in brief I feel confident that they can be classified as Class-2 Lost Logia. There should be no issues getting approval to intervene, especially as we have a ready-made cover story in claiming that we are parahumans in our own right. If some of the super-engineers on this world, these 'Tinkers', are any indication, no one will doubt our explanation for a minute.

"I am also more certain than before that there is a connection between the Endbringers and the source of parahumans' powers."

" _Explain,"_ the admiral ordered, but his expression was not one of doubt. It was more as though he wanted to be sure her rationale matched his own conclusions.

"The first Endbringer activated ten years after the debut of para-magic," she said with a slight grin at the name, earning a groan from Erga who was undoubtedly unhappy solely because he was not the one to come up with it, "and when it did so, it had a set of abilities that were very similar to the more immediately advantageous powers. Absurd durability, an aura of radiation and heat to cook anyone trying to get close, control over various forms of energy. In the parlance of their law enforcement, 'Brute' and 'Blaster' primarily. The second was faster, more agile, with a greater focus towards area attacks. By itself this means little, but the third? The third was the one to appear when Tinkers were truly coming into their own, and it has the ability to feed off the styles and ideas of nearby Tinkers. It also brainwashes individuals and appeared in a time when other pseudo-telepathatic manipulators were becoming more and more feared."

"And I would bet my last credit that this… 'para-magic' is the result of a fourth Lost Logia, and of Al Hazardan make, too," Erga added with a nod. "From what Taylor told us, the specific abilities that manifest are related to the circumstances of the new parahuman. Wish-granting artifacts were Al Hazard's bread and butter. Might explain why the Endbringers leave after taking so little damage. It isn't enough to really hurt them, but if they really are corrupted planetary defenders, it might just be enough to jostle their memory banks and remind them that they are supposed to be protecting these people, not trying to kill them. Then the corruption comes back as they regenerate, and the cycle starts all over again."

Tucson laced his fingers together. _"I was thinking along similar lines. How do we explain this golden man, then? This Scion of theirs."_

The Enforcers looked at each other for a moment before Teana hazarded a guess. "If we take the name literally, then he claimed to be the inheritor of someone or something. Perhaps he was the person who activated the wish-granting Logia, and it bonded with him? That would explain the variety and strength of his abilities. His disappearance two years ago could be that the Logia finally detached itself, or more likely it exacted a demand on his body that he could no longer sustain."

" _Yet it has stayed active even without an obvious host."_ Admiral Tucson rubbed his chin. _"Focus on the Endbringers for now. It sounds like this… para-magic Lost Logia may actually be working as intended. If that is the case, I doubt anyone on that world would appreciate us interfering with it. They can work that out themselves._

" _Good work, Lanster. Keep me informed as the situation progresses."_

A quick salute, and the communication ended. "Not gonna lie, kinda envious of you getting to walk around and stretch your legs around other people for a bit," Erga said with an exaggerated sigh. "Meanwhile I have to stay holed up in an old building sifting through their data. Interesting stuff, don't get me wrong, but after a while even that gets boring."

"We could trade if you really wanted," was her dry reply. "I'll sit back and read their 'Internet', and you can try restoring our credibility with the mage we nearly killed and who still doesn't exactly like us. There were a couple of times yesterday when I said or did something that I was worried she was going to blow up over."

"Eh." That was as close as Erga would get to admitting he was wrong, and he gave her a short wave as he walked out. Now alone in the communications room, Teana tapped her fingertips against the console. Taylor was their only local contact on the planet, and Admiral Tucson had made no secret of the fact that he would like to recruit her into the Navy when this mission was complete. Not that that was a surprise; Taylor had power, adaptability, and a different way of looking at things that would serve her well as a member of the TSAB. Joining would also give Taylor the resources and support she needed to truly grow into her full powers that Earth Bet-12 just couldn't provide. They just had to figure out how to overcome that gaff of a first impression.

That combination of thoughts sparked an idea, and a smile grew on her face as she told her Intelligent Device whom to contact. A long moment passed, and then a screen manifested to show a brunette woman standing in front of a sink, another woman and a little girl with heads of blonde hair sitting at a table behind her. Blue eyes sparkled with delight. _"Teana-chan!"_

"Hi, Nanoha," she replied with a smile. "How are things going out there?"

Nanoha laughed awkwardly at that question. _"They're fine, they're fine. Sometimes I miss the action, but it's been nice just to spend time with Vivio-chan, even if Fate-chan tells me I'm pushing her too fast. Only once or twice, though!"_

" _Once or twice per week, maybe."_ Nanoha squeaked at the sudden voice behind her, and Fate winked one red eye at Teana. _"She's been getting more and more impatient as the date for her to return to active duty gets closer."_ The elder Enforcer dropped her voice into a stage whisper. _"Just between you and me, Teana, I don't think she's cut out for the life of a housewife."_

"… _Can I join you out there, Teana-chan? Fate-chan's so mean to me."_

Teana could not help but laugh at the by-play between them. She could still remember staring in awe at the two Aces who had inducted her into Riot Force 6 all those years ago, but it did not take long for her to start seeing her then-superiors as friends. Especially not after Fate took her as a personal assistant and apprentice prior to joining the Enforcers in her own right. That had opened a whole new horizon of seeing how the Blitz Ace and the White Devil acted when they were in the casual setting of their own home.

The women smiled at her laughter before Fate continued, _"Not that we mind you calling, but what's the occasion? Normally you only call when you need some advice, and I would have expected you to reach out to Bardiche for that."_

"I need to talk to Nanoha this time, actually." That comment earned her the flight instructor's undivided attention. "I can't go into all the details right now, but the short version is that our current mission involved looking for a Lost Logia that was lost on a low-magic world. We had a local contact who we thought was a self-trained mage, but it turns out that she has the Lost Logia in her possession and has been using that to tap into her magical potential. Our first meeting… didn't go well. We thought she was an enemy and fired upon her, she had no clue who we were and why we were attacking; that sort of thing."

" _Is everyone okay?"_ Nanoha asked immediately.

"Yes, we're all fine. We're okay, she's okay, that's not the problem. The problem is that because of this we didn't get off on the right foot, and now we're stuck trying to restore the goodwill she had towards us before we strained it with our screw-up." She sighed. "I just don't know how to fix it."

" _Teana-chan, look at me."_ She raised her eyes to meet Nanoha's. _"You're a good person. Impatient, stubborn, entirely too self-critical, but good nonetheless. I saw it immediately, and so did everyone else. You made a mistake, and that makes things harder, but it doesn't change who you are. It sounds like this girl is still upset about your actions, and not without reason, but tempers eventually settle and leave clear heads behind. Once she calms down, she'll start to see that you just want to help."_

" _As someone who has been the bad guy in a similar situation,"_ Fate added with a small, wry smile, _"I'll tell you now that there isn't much you_ _ **can**_ _do to make things better. Not immediately, anyway. You fix what you can, obviously, and you apologize for your mistake, but after that you have to wait for her to forgive you. You can't make things better until she lets you."_

Nanoha nodded. _"Don't lose hope, though. Just because you start off badly doesn't mean it will stay that way. Arisa-chan, Fate-chan, Hayate-chan and the Wolkenritter, the Numbers. We were all enemies at one time, but now look at us."_

"That was the reason I wanted to talk to you about it," she said with a tiny smile. She was not the most social and gregarious person, Subaru could attest to that, but if anyone had the advice on how to turn an enemy into a friend, it would be Nanoha.

A wicked thought crossed her mind as she thought of her best friend and old partner and some of the jokes she knew Subaru would have made in this situation, and she added with just a hint of nonchalance, "Well, that and I figured you two would be the best people to ask for advice on how to interact with your lovechild."

"… _Whah?"_

She sent a few images through the link so they could see what she meant. Most of them were images from Cross Mirage's recording during their fight, but a few she had picked up from Earth Bet-12's data network. "You should have told me you had a kid together when you were younger. It was obvious as soon as I saw her that she had to be yours. She has the same dark design to her Barrier Jacket and the same mana scythe as Fate, and Nanoha, her Shooter skills and Buster are pure you. Even her magic color matches; that bright a shade of orange can only come from mixing pink and yellow."

Nanoha stammered something unintelligible, and Fate looked like she was one comment from passing out. Vivio wandered over and looked at the various images floating next to the live feed. _"Nanoha-mama, is she my sister?"_ she asked with all the innocence of an eight-year-old. _"She looks like you, like I look like Fate-mama. Can we bring her home?"_

That snapped Fate out of her shellshocked stupor, and she shook her head. _"No, Vivio, that isn't your sister. It's just someone Teana met on one of her missions and decided to play a very mean joke on us with,"_ she added with a glare at Teana. _"I never thought I'd say this, but you've clearly been spending too much time with Subaru."_

"Sorry, I couldn't help it. Besides, I know she isn't your and Nanoha's kid." She laughed lightly and doubled down. "Like I said, she tamed the Lost Logia we were looking for, so the only way she could be yours is if you had a 'party' with Captain Hayate once upon a time."

She expected the women to roll their eyes or make some dismissive comment. She did _not_ expect both of them to blush bright red and immediately look away from the screen and each other. Her thoughts screeched to a halt as she realized how badly this had blown up in her face because now she had those thoughts stuck in her head too. Ugh, she did not need to be imagining three of her former commanding officers in bed together.

" _Aunt Hayate had a party? You didn't invite me. Can I bring my friends to the next one?"_

…Clearly help was not coming from that corner.

" _Look, Teana-chan, it wasn't like that,"_ Nanoha finally said, and Teana let out a tiny sigh. Her relief was short-lived. _"Hayate-chan had just come back from her first big command mission, and we went out to celebrate, and we got really_ _ **really**_ _drunk, and—"_

"Thanks! I… I'm good. Don't need to hear any details I have another call I have to make thanks for the advice _bye_!"

* * *

 **Now how's** _ **THAT**_ **for some on-the-nose bad guessing? :P And good god, the Takamachi-Harlaown household has the potential to be comedy gold. Pity Seven Arcs squandered the opportunity ViVid gave them.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	123. Heatstroke 10-1

**Heatstroke 10.1**

 **Saturday, June 25**

" _Mistress. Update on investigation of Coil."_

You freeze in your motions, and as a result the plastic staff in Samantha's hands lashes out and sweeps your legs out from under you. The impact of your butt onto the hard ground drives a frustrated huff out of your lungs, and you shoot her a glare that she weathers effortlessly. Yes, maybe this is partly your fault for asking your Guardian Beast, who is naturally talented with spears along with just about every other close-quarters weapon, to help you improve your abilities with your scythe, but that doesn't mean she needs to take _quite_ such enjoyment out of beating you like a drum. "Really, Sam?"

"Distractions are part of the battlefield. If you can't block them out, you'll give your opponent an opening."

"And maybe I'll take advantage of other openings and talk Lacey into canceling the cable." The threat to her soap opera time finally gets you an expression of contrition, no matter how forced it looks, and you turn back your Device. "Sorry, Storm. You were saying something about Coil."

" _Mistress tasked me with identifying identity and background details of Coil. Search and correlation complete."_ A dozen screens flash into existence, the foremost showing a facial photo that looks to be from some kind of official identification. So this is what Coil looks like underneath that mask. Gaunt cheeks, thin lips in a bored frown, cleft chin, buzzed haircut. Overall, he is not an attractive man; there is just something vaguely skeletal about him. _"Birth name, Thomas Jonah Calvert. Born October 10 of year 1972, in Gordon, Wisconsin. Attended local education centers, minor role in secondary school football sport team. Enlisted in United States Marine Corp in 1990, dishonorably discharged two years later due to evidence of abusing captured enemy soldiers and reports of murdering civilians during Gulf War conflict."_

"Well, he sounds like a peach," mutters Samantha.

" _1992 through 1997, records difficult to obtain. From information gathered, employed as mercenary in various countries. Developed reputation for combat against parahuman warlords in Africa and South America. Reputation cause for recruitment into Parahuman Response Team early 1998. Promoted to squad leader. Certificates of merit due to combat effectiveness until 2002."_

Perfect Storm pauses, and you have to wonder when it developed a sense of the dramatic. A moment later, you sigh and play along. "What happened in 2002?"

" _Assault and takeover of Ellisburg, New York, by parahuman Jamie Rinke, alternate identity as villain Nilbog. Multiple combat squads and individual parahumans deployed. Summarily defeated. High casualties. Parahumans fled upon realization of deployment futility. Two survivors of ground forces. Calvert and Emily Sandra Piggot, former director of Brockton Bay PRT."_

The two PRT survivors of the failed attempt to reclaim Ellisburg were both working in your hometown at the same time? You would think it is the perfect example of it being a small world, but something about this smells too much like a setup of some kind. "Any contact between Piggot and Coil while they were in Brockton Bay?"

" _Negative. No contact found."_ That is good enough for you, and it continues, _"Calvert served six months in prison following Ellisburg, official cause substantial dereliction of duty. Actual reason classified. During retreat, killed commanding officer so as to hasten own escape. Tried for murder, found guilty, sentenced to fifteen years imprisonment. Early release and sealing of prison record contingent on signing non-disclosure agreement regarding Ellisburg operation."_

"Wait, wait, wait. This guy murdered his commander while running away from Nilbog's monsters, and they cut his prison sentence short so he'd keep quiet? _Why_? What could he know that was so damning they'd do that much to shut him up?"

Perfect Storm lets out a two-tone whistle you've come to associate as its recent attempt to translate a shrug. _"Unclear. During imprisonment, had one visitor. Identified as Wayne Kent, investigative reporter. Hypothesis: Calvert in process to sell information to Kent for publication._

" _Background of time period indicates waning governmental support for Protectorate and PRT. Emergence of multiple A- and S-Class parahumans. Scandals over abuse of power. Details of Ellisburg conflict highly dangerous to public relations."_

You think you understand what Perfect Storm is implying, as does Samantha. "If it got out that the capes at Ellisburg ran, in that environment it could have spelled the end of the organizations. They hid it, and they figured letting him out of prison and shutting him up in the process would be the better alternative."

" _Correct. Between six and eleven months after release, all parties involved in arrangement besides Calvert died. Various official causes of death, but premeditated murder by Calvert high likelihood."_

"No shit, Sherlock. Where is he now?" you all but demand. The more you hear about how the PRT couldn't keep control over this monster, the angrier you become, both with him and the PRT in general. They knew what he was when they first recruited him, and again when they decided to let him out of prison. This was their mistake, and yet it was everyone else who has been forced to pay the piper.

" _Moved from Brockton Bay to Chicago following Simurgh attack. Officially consultant for PRT but put in command of troops sent from Chicago office to reinforce local PRT due to tactical ability. Returned to Chicago day before Mistress's apartment destroyed."_

Samantha snorts. "Nice little alibi there. So we know the who, and I can guess the why based on what flavor of bastard he is. Once Tattletale told him what she had told you, that was probably enough to piss him off and make him decide to murder you to cover up his tracks. He didn't move openly because he knew it wouldn't work. He's part of the PRT, so he has access to the same information on you the Protectorate does. Instead of hitting you while you were out and about as Calamity Witch, he tried to kill you when you were supposed to be home and not looking out for danger.

"Now we just need the how."

"That much, I think I've figured out on my own," you tell her with a frown. "Something about the whole situation just sounded familiar, so I did some digging. Remember that first time we talked to Dragon? She was working on a report about the bomb Tinker who turned a bunch of students at Cornell into stone. From what I can figure out, that Tinker goes by the name of Bakuda. If her first bomb could do that, glassing a building after having a few months to practice would be relatively simple." You sigh. "What are we going to do about this?"

"I hate to say it," Samantha says slowly, "but I'm worried what would happen if we tried to go to the Protectorate or the PRT. Coil is in a position of authority, part of the team, and while we are heroes we are also only minimally affiliated with them. They would have to investigate on their own before they trusted what we told them, and that would give Coil time to escape or manufacture an excuse or something. And that's if they are willing to believe us in the first place considering how much of the evidence is sealed. I trust the Protectorate here, but it isn't like we have spent any time with the unpowered side of the organization. They don't know us, and we don't know them."

"So it's up to us. The three of us against Coil, Tattletale, and Bakuda. Those are just great odds right there." Your smile is grim. Tattletale you can handle with one hand tied behind your back, but bombs are another issue entirely. Not to mention you have no idea what Coil's own power even is. He, on the other hand, knows much more about your skills than you are comfortable with.

" _Maaaaaaybe_. Maybe not." You turn a questioning stare onto Samantha and her self-satisfied grin. "Whoever said we couldn't call for a little backup of our own?"

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	124. Heatstroke 10-2

**Heatstroke 10.2**

"What do you mean?" you ask. You don't exactly have any teammates you can call on. Well, Tim technically is a teammate, but he isn't the kind of person you want to throw into a combat situation. He's a crafter, not a fighter.

That said, if you're going after a ruthless bomb Tinker, someone with Tinkering skills of their own wouldn't go amiss… "You're talking about calling Dragon into this, aren't you?"

"She's one of the people I was thinking of," she agrees with a nod. "We're going after a villain who is clearly high up in the Protectorate hierarchy. If it's just us who accuse Calvert of being Coil, they might ignore us or drag their feet. If we have the world's greatest Tinker and a member of the Guild backing us up, it's going to be a lot harder for them to shut their ears. And then we'll also have someone who can defuse Bakuda's bombs."

"One of the people…" You blink and realize immediate who the other person is. "No."

"Yes."

"No! We are not taking Vista to confront a mad bomber."

Samantha crosses her arms. "And why not?"

"Samantha, dragging her into my fights already cost her an arm! I'm not putting her in that situation again."

The raccoon woman sighs and puts her hands on your shoulders. "Don't you think that should be her decision to make? Especially since you were the one who thought taking Vista to the villain meet was a good idea because she had implied she wouldn't mind being poached from the Protectorate."

That isn't the same thing, you want to say. That was a simple meeting, with little risk involved. This is going after a trio of villains who have no qualms with bombing a building and killing everyone inside just to kill two people. The dangers are entirely different. And yet, you can't ignore the point Samantha is trying to make. Missy's issue with how the Protectorate has treated her is that they are making her decisions for her. If you are concerned about that, shouldn't she have the right to refuse or accept of her own accord?

"Give her a call," Samantha tells you with a knowing look. "Tell her what we're doing, and let her make the decision. If you really want to give her that degree of autonomy, that's the best way to treat this situation. I'll call Dragon and give her the backstory."

With a wink, your Guardian Beast strolls off and calls up a screen in front of her. Your shoulders slump, and before you can even make your request Perfect Storm is already calling the other heroine.

" _Hello?"_

"Hey, Missy. It's Taylor." You can tell she is about to engage in small talk, so you hurry on. "Sorry, but I need to talk about work stuff. You know that apartment that was turned to crystal?"

"… _Yeah?"_

"That was where I used to live. We figured out who it was who did it and that he was gunning for me in my civilian ID. We're heading out now to absolutely _wreck his shit_ ," you hiss with rising anger. "Samantha wondered if you wanted—"

" _ **Hell**_ _yeah. Give me five minutes, and you can pick me up at headquarters."_

Well. That was… quick. "Vista, it won't just be a simple smash and grab. He's involved with the PRT, and he has a bomb Tinker on call. It's going to be dangerous. Another traumatic amputation–grade dangerous, even." Silence fills the line. "If you want to come even knowing that, I'll come by and get you. If you don't want to risk it, I won't hold it against you in the slightest. This is personal."

"… _And you think you can put yourself in that much danger without me worrying about you in return? No chance. Bombs just mean I'll have acceptable targets to blow away with a particle cannon._

" _Protectorate base rooftop. Five minutes. Don't keep me waiting, Calamity Witch."_

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Five minutes later, you and Samantha swoop down to the Protectorate building with a smile that rapidly fades. Vista looks sheepish, and the reason why becomes obvious when Chevalier steps out from behind a section of air conditioning duct. He gives you a strained smile of his own. "Good morning, Calamity Witch. I take it you can explain why Vista was planning to run out without a word to anyone. And maybe why she's wearing a coat in eighty degree weather."

You glance back at Vista and her thin coat and gloves in surprise. "They don't know about…?"

"I didn't have a good opportunity to tell them?" she replies with a faint wince. Looking back and forth among the three of you, she sighs and pulls off the jacket to reveal the chrome-plated combat arm attached to her shoulder.

Chevalier stares at it for a moment. "I see. Shipwright's work, I presume?"

"Things were getting heated enough around here that we felt Vista would benefit from having some actual protection." You aren't ashamed of that choice, and you want to make sure that he knows it.

He shakes his head. "She shouldn't be in a position where she _needs_ armor. Wards aren't meant to be fighting in the first place—"

"Oh, you've made that clear," snaps Vista, any embarrassment burned away now. "It doesn't matter that I'm a better fighter that Sere and have the villain captures to prove it. It doesn't matter that I'm the one who had to teach Flambé and Cherry Bomb about Protectorate procedure. I'm thirteen, and that's all anybody sees. Not my actual abilities."

"Because as powerful as you are, you're still a minor, Vista. That makes us responsible for what happens to you. It's our job to keep Wards out of danger as much as possible."

"Then I'll just quit." You blink at her in shock, and the leader of the Protectorate is caught equally off-guard at that comment. "I'm one of eleven Shaker 9s in North America, and I have four years of experience being a cape. If the Protectorate doesn't want my skills, I'm sure I can find another team that will, and you'd be rid of a troublesome Ward who won't stop complaining about how things are being run. Problem solved."

Chevalier slowly turns to you, and you raise your hands to ward off any accusations. This was _not_ your doing! Not directly, anyway, and not intentionally. It just so happens that you are doing things in the Brockton Bay style as an independent, and that is the lifestyle Missy wants.

"We… can talk about this later, Vista," Chevalier finally says, clearly not sure what to do about the ultimatum that was just dropped in his lap. You don't envy him, either. "I still fail to understand just what you were planning on doing."

"Heading to Chicago to deal with the villain that bombed our apartment," says Samantha. At least someone is calm about all this.

"Or you could have told me. I would have passed the information on to the heroes in Chicago, and they would have been able to arrest him."

"Even when that villain is _leading_ PRT troops?"

That shocks him into silence, and you take the quiet as a sign to explain the entire situation. You… may be a little bit more pointed with your comments than you would have been otherwise, but you have to admit that his pseudo-accusations stoked your temper just a little.

When you're done, the irritation and anger in his eyes has been blown out, or at the bare minimum banked to be sorted out later. Chevalier runs his hand over his mask. "This is… How could this have happened? Calamity Witch, are you completely sure of everything you said?"

" _I double-checked some of their facts,"_ Dragon says from her screen, the A.I. turned Unison Device having been called halfway or so through the conversation. _"Not all of them considering the time constraints, but what I dug up matches what they found. Calvert at the very least shouldn't be walking around a free man, and the timeline for Coil's activity in Brockton Bay matches when Calvert lived there."_

"I suppose it explains why every time I would have been able to talk to him in person, he was busy with something else." You tilt your head at the odd comment, and Chevalier explains, "It isn't common knowledge, but I have a minor Thinker power that lets me see an aspect of people's powers. It isn't perfect, and it can be blocked by some kinds of Stranger powers or Tinkertech, but it's something I've found useful from time to time and is in my files. Files Calvert would have access to."

"And now you know why we couldn't pass this through official channels," Samantha adds. "He'd see that we were coming and would have time to hide his tracks. We need to grab him now before he has a chance to run, and we can sort out everything else later."

He shakes his head. "It won't be that simple. If you're going to accuse someone like Calvert of being a villain, you need some kind of solid proof. Something that could be easily verified. Otherwise you need to make a demonstration he simply can't blow off."

"Like what?"

"Like literally unmasking him. Bring Coil in in full costume, then pull off the mask to show Calvert's face. It would be hard to argue against that, particularly with both Dragon and myself standing right behind you."

That… might work, too, you suppose.

" _Concern. Chicago PRT administration scheduled for meeting. Target Calvert supposed to attend."_

Chevalier frowns. "That makes things more difficult, but there were a few debriefings here that Calvert wasn't physically present for. He would just call in and talk over the phone. There's no way to know if he does things the same in Chicago or if he avoided the meetings here because he knew I would be present."

"Um, guys?" You turn to look at Vista. "Coil is important, but shouldn't we be more worried about the _bomb Tinker_? Masterminds tend to be Masters or Thinkers if I remember right, so while he needs to go down, Bakuda would be the cape who's the most immediate danger. Take her away, and he'll be left with just his mercenaries with no other capes backing him up."

"Couldn't we split up, then?" you ask. "Half go after Bakuda, and half go after Coil?"

"No," Chevalier and Dragon say in stereo, and he waves his hand for the Tinker to elaborate. _"Capturing Bakuda means attacking a Tinker in her workshop, and that is always a dangerous proposition. On the other hand, Coil may not be as much of a danger on his own, but he has mercenaries at his disposal, and from what Samantha told me earlier, he has laser rifles as well. There is no telling what other weapons they have access to. The five of us should be enough to storm either location, but not both at the same time._

" _Unfortunately, all three targets will likely reveal our intentions, so if we're wrong, Coil and Bakuda will be have time to prepare themselves for our next attempt. Not a lot, but they may not need a lot of time. We need to make our first choice count."_

* * *

 **No! Vista, what are you doing? Now is not the time for this!**

 **So… My characters are once again doing their own thing without care for the script. That's nice. Very comforting.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	125. Heatstroke 10-3

**Biblio338:** Honestly, I think I would prefer herding cats to trying to get my characters to stay on script. Cats don't threaten you with radioactive Divine Busters, arm-mounted particle cannons, half-demoness fury, or eldritch powers granted by Death itself when you try to force them to behave.

 **Separ:** The Enforcers are off the table. There was a big long discussion about that between me and the players, but it boils down to the fact that the TSAB is heavily restricted in what it can do on Non-Administrated Worlds, and particularly those unaware of the greater Dimensional Sea. It's a philosophy and restriction very similar to the Prime Directive in Star Trek.

* * *

 **Heatstroke 10.3**

If it's that important to make the first choice count…

"Bakuda," you say after only a moment's thought. It really is the obvious choice. "We move in on the Tinker, and that's one resource Coil can't call on to back him up when we go after him. It might not make him easy, but it will keep him from getting worse."

Vista pumps her fist in the air, but Chevalier frowns. "Unless he already has some of her handiwork nearby where he can use it."

"Then it won't make much of a difference whether we hit her first or not, will it? Like I said, it can't _hurt_."

If Chevalier has any rebuttal to that line of thought, he is keeping it to himself. You wave the two heroes over and look to Dragon. _"I'm already en route,"_ she tells you with a smile that is edging towards a smirk. _"I'll meet you there. Particularly if you head to these coordinates."_

Her face is replaced by a string of numbers in the same style as Perfect Storm's calculations for Spatial Translocation, and you give your Device the go-ahead. The orange sigil spits you and your companions out on a rooftop overlooking a brand-new city. Pushing your hat back slightly, you wipe your brow and realize you may have underestimated the size of the task you assigned yourself. « _Storm, how big is Chicago?_ »

« _Area 234 square miles, population 2.7 million individuals. 65% larger in area and almost double the population of Philadelphia._ »

Oh. « _I'm almost afraid to ask, but how many capes?_ »

« _Total number unknown. Fluctuant population. Of stable gangs and hero organizations, roughly two hundred._ »

Two hundred. And Philadelphia has thirty. No wonder the Chicagoan gangs wanted a piece of your town.

Something rumbles above you, and you hunch over and look up at the sky in worry. Is it a bomb? Does Coil already know about your plan to attack him? Maybe his power is precog, and he knew about your arrival for days already. Before you can stress yourself to the breaking point, or maybe to the point of dropping subtlety and just blasting the sky with Solar Wrath, a shape shimmers like a heatwave in the air before smoothing out. It isn't long enough for you to truly see it, but between the general outline, the peculiar sound that preceded it, and Dragon's sly warning, you have a pretty good idea what just happened.

Speak of the devil, and the Dragon will appear. _"Well? What do you think?"_

"Did you… turn one of your ships _invisible_?"

" _Mmm. Somewhat. It depends on exactly what you mean by invisible. It's more like extremely advanced cloaking technology. I had some ideas for how to get it working now thanks to_ 'collaborating' _with you and Shipwright, and I figured why not add it to the Sybaris Mk. II?"_

Mark 2? The collaboration she's hinting at must be her conversion to a Unison Device, and you know that in this new form she can understand magitech in addition to Tinkertech. Is this newest member of the Dragoncraft lineup built with mana technology?

"Now that we're in Chicago," Samantha cuts in, "what's the plan to actually _find_ Bakuda? I sure hope we have a better idea than just knocking on doors and asking if people have seen a bomber cape."

" _Honestly? That is almost what I'm doing right now. I'm sorting through police and PRT reports. It's slow, but I'm hoping with enough sightings of criminals dressed the same as Coil's mercenaries, I will be able to pinpoint where their general territory is. It will speed up the search once we have a narrower slice of the city."_

Chevalier nods at Dragon's plan. "You work on the PRT side of things, and I'll work on the Protectorate side. I'll head to the local branch and see what Myrddin can tell me about Coil and Bakuda." He gives you a look. "He'll want to know the reason for my curiosity, and I don't see any benefit in lying to him. His branch will be our best allies if things don't go according to plan."

You hear the underlying warning in his voice and give him a nod. It would be easy for things to go south, particularly since you are more or less making up your plan as you go. Moving quickly and quietly is going to be essential to catching Bakuda and Coil off their guard, but if shit does hit the fan, having the local heroes even somewhat in the know will be a nice bit of insurance. Particularly if Calvert has enough sway to try throwing PRT agents at you.

You want to take the villains down. Killing agents who think they're doing their job protecting their home from invading villains is way beyond the line.

"I'll head for the coastline and work my way inwards," Vista says. You glance at her in surprise. To the best of your knowledge, she is a space-warper, not a locator. Does she have a second power she's kept secret that lets her search faster than normal? "It's complicated, but the short version is that I can use my power to figure out if there are and aren't people in a specific place. Coil has to have an armory or a base or something for his men, and Bakuda may have assistants in her lab. Both will have to be hidden, which means I'd find people where there aren't supposed to be any."

Samantha nods. "I can start on the other side of the city and use Wide Area Search to look for the same. If I shut it down as soon as it finishes scanning, I can see what's lying around hopefully before anyone notices the little balls of light zipping around. Won't let us track anyone, but we can get a rough picture of what's going on."

Which just leaves you without something to do. Sure, you could out and start throwing Wide Area Search on your own to try speeding up the search, or you could back somebody up should things go south where they are. Or even go with Chevalier to explain some of the details to Myrrdin about just why you're in his city.

Decisions, decisions.

* * *

 **This arc is part extermination, part social event. It's all sorts of fun. As is the surprise Dragon has packed into the Sybaris Mk II.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	126. Heatstroke 10-4

**Heatstroke 10.4**

"Chevalier," you say after a moment, "do you mind if I head out with you? I should probably help explain things to Myrddin. Better than making you be the messenger all on your own."

It might also let you smooth over a new wrinkle that you really don't want causing problems. Vista's ultimatum still sits heavily in your memory. You don't need to be a genius to know which group she would offer her services to first, and Chevalier doesn't either. Nor is it a mystery that you'd accept her without a moment's hesitation. This is an unexpected and unwelcome complication.

You would love it if there were a simple solution.

He eyes you for a long moment before giving you a nod. "That would probably be for the best. You can answer any questions I don't know the answer to. I'm sure he will be just as curious about how you figured all this out as I am."

Samantha teleports away while Vista toys with space and makes her way to the northeast. A moment later, Dragon's screen winks out, leaving you all alone with the realization that you volunteered to discuss Perfect Storm's hacking with the heads of two different Protectorate branches. Oops.

Chevalier pulls a phone out of his armor and flicks through a couple of screens before putting it to his ear. "Myrddin, it's Chevalier." He sighs. "…Yes, I'm aware you have caller ID. I need to talk to you in private. … In person, actually. I'm here in the city."

« _Storm, do you think you cou_ —»

"— _without telling me?"_ another man's voice says into your ear. There are few days when you less than love the telepathic connection between you and your Device; today is not one of them. _"Sonny, you're in for a spanking, that's for sure. When are you coming to headquarters?"_

"That… might not work," Chevalier replies. "Do you know anywhere else we could meet? I don't want anyone to know I or my companion are in town."

" _Mmm. Sure, I guess I know a place for some cloak and dagger games. Mac's Pub, near the intersection of North Ogden and West Ohio. I'll meet you there in, oh, ten minutes?"_

"Sounds good. See you then." Chevalier hangs up the phone and looks at you. "He'll meet us on top of a restaurant a short distance from the Protectorate base. Can you teleport us to the intersection of North Ogden and West Ohio?"

"Easily." All it takes is for Perfect Storm to find the address, translate it into useful coordinates, spin the code for Spatial Translocation—

—and there you are, on a rooftop across the street from an Old World–style bar simply labeled 'Mac's'. Cheeky Device.

"How come you want to meet here and not at their headquarters itself like you said you were?" you ask once the world fully solidifies around you.

"If it were just me, I could talk my way around the situation to anyone who asked. With you along, it would make things more complicated, particularly if Calvert heard any whisper of your presence. From what little I know about him personally while he was in Philadelphia, he struck me as someone both rash and paranoid. I was worried he might rabbit if he thought there was a chance you were in town for him."

Fair enough. Another short teleportation takes you to your destination. Chevalier leans against some of the air conditioning work, his cannonblade propped up next to him. You, on the other hand, lay your staff horizontally in the air and sit on top of you. Now you just need some way to kill the next ten minutes.

A couple of minutes to think about what you want to say and how, and you give up. "I didn't know."

He turns his head to you but says nothing.

"About Vista. I knew she wasn't happy with being in the Wards since coming to Philly, but I didn't know she was thinking about quitting."

"How did you know she was unhappy?"

You shrug. "She told me outright. It's been getting worse the last several weeks, but it didn't take long for her to start butting heads with the way the Wards are held back."

"The Wards program is not a miniature Protectorate," he says with a long-drawn sigh. "Miss Militia has told me that is how it was treated in Brockton Bay, but that is not and never was its purpose. It's a place for young parahumans to learn to master their powers in as controlled an environment as possible. We're protecting her from getting in over her head."

"And that right there is the problem. She doesn't _want_ to be protected. I wouldn't either in her shoes. She wants to go out and make a difference, and she can't do that when you're locking her up in your base whenever shit hits the fan. The Beasts, the Maras. She could have helped out, but you were so busy protecting her you treated her like a china doll instead of a fellow cape."

Chevalier gives you a tight-lipped frown. "And when going out and making a difference causes her to lose an arm?" You cannot help but flinch. "It is a low blow, and I apologize for that, but the point still stands. She got into a fight that neither of you were prepared to handle, and it cost her a limb and nearly cost her life. Is that not evidence enough that she should be protected instead of being tossed out on the field?"

"How many full-grown heroes died at Cadejo's hands?" you counter. "Being a cape isn't safe. Period. Some of us have better powers with which to survive, but at the end of the day we're all risking our lives every time we step out our front doors in costume. Your choice to do so is respected. My choice to do so is respected. Now Vista wants her choice to be respected, and if you ask me, I think she's earned it."

"There are many people who say she isn't old enough to make that choice on her own. The Youth Guard. The Protectorate and PRT at large. Me."

You shrug. "Then you'll lose her. I don't she was kidding about that. Her age doesn't make her any less able to do what she wants, regardless of whether she is allowed to or not."

Even through his helmet, you can feel the weight of his stare. "And when she asks to join you the way we both know she would were she to quit the Wards?"

"Chevalier, I'm not going to go out of my way to pick a fight with the Protectorate." He nods, but any ease in his posture is wiped away with your next words. "But that doesn't mean I'll leave a friend out in the cold on your say so. I like you, and I like Miss Militia, but I don't live for your approval. One of the advantages of being independent."

The rest of the wait for Myrddin to arrive is awkward, to say the least.

Finally, _finally_ , the silence is broken when a cape in a thick burlap robe and cape flies up and over the edge of the building to land lightly on the rooftop. He taps the butt of his gnarled oak staff against the roof and strokes his brown beard. "This a new protege, Chevalier?"

"Not exactly," the armored knight denies with a shake of his head. "Myrddin, meet one of our locals, Calamity Witch."

You hop off Perfect Storm and execute a strange bow with curtsey that comes naturally to you. You are pretty sure you've done this kind of thing before, and you can not help but wonder if it is a movement carried down from the days of Galea in your implanted memories. "Hello, Myrddin. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"My dear, believe me when I say the pleasure is all mine. I would say that I hope you're enjoying your time in our city, but considering the circumstances, I get the feeling that pleasure is not why you're here."

"I'm afraid not." Chevalier turns to you. "Do you want to explain the details?"

Once again you find yourself detailing Coil's attack and identity and the reason for your trip to Chicago, and while Myrddin is surprised by your holographic screens he is not doubtful of your claims. Not blatantly, at least, though he does look to Chevalier for a reassuring nod a couple of times. When it is clear that you are finished, he turns fully to his Philly counterpart. "How accurate is all this?"

"I haven't had a chance to confirm anything myself, but the pieces fit together. It was enough to convince Dragon, for whatever that's worth to you." Chevalier sighs. "I don't like it any better than you do, but if Calvert really is a villain? That isn't a situation we can sit on. He needs to be brought in and questioned."

"I've heard a rumor that there is supposed to be a meeting among the PRT brass," you add. "If that's the case, then once we can bring in Bakuda, we could move on him."

Myrddin shakes his head. "I wish I could help you, but I really don't know if he's there or not. The PRT is our parent agency, but there is so much autonomy that we aren't always invited to their meetings. This is one of those, I think. It is being held in the PRT office, so while I have full authority to ask for a list of who was seen entering the building, those questions would be noticed. If you are a worried about tipping Coil off as you say you are…"

Well, that sucks. "Alright. What about Bakuda and Coil's underlings? Do you know anything about them and where they might be?"

"That's a hard question to answer. I can't say anything about explosions, but there have been a variety of strange things happening in Fuller Park and Englewood. We thought it was the work of a Shaker who perhaps couldn't control his powers, but a Tinker who makes bombs with unusual effects? That could be her doing. Unfortunately, the PRT and the Protectorate are no more trusted in those areas than are the police, so we haven't been able to find any eyewitnesses to know for sure.

"Mercenaries?" He shakes his head. "I don't know what to tell you. I've heard of people dressed like soldiers running around town in masks, but those sighting are sporadic, and I don't know that I would be able to track them down to one particular place in the city. I'm sorry I can't be more help."

"That is more than we knew coming in to this," Chevalier says with a slow nod. "Thankfully we were planning on attacking Bakuda first, so the fact you have some idea where she might be is actually rather helpful. But we need to make sure Calvert doesn't escape. Do you think you could station some people around the PRT building to make sure he doesn't slip away just in case he is there?"

"That much I can do without any trouble. Let me know if things go south, and I can send some people out to provide backup."

The two Protectorate heroes are still hashing out all the fine details when you step away and call the rest of your team. Samantha and Dragon open video screens while Vista's own is audio only. "We have a lead thanks to Myrddin. Focus on these areas. People have noticed weird effects that might be the remains of her bombs."

" _I can't see where you're talking about."_

" _I have the coordinates, Vista. I'll come pick you up and take you there,"_ Samantha tells the only person without any kind of high-tech communication system. _"Calamity, are you and Chevalier going to join us?"_

"Give me a minute or two for them to finish talking, and that's where we'll be. See you all soon." You turn around to find both men looking at you. "I gave them the locations you mentioned, so they'll head that way soon enough. Myrddin, thank you for the information. I can't tell you how much easier you made our search."

"You're quite welcome, but I need you to do one thing now that you know." You tilt your head in question. "Try to keep everything in one piece please. We still have to live in this city after you leave. Once I have a chance to brief some of my people on the very basic details and how important it is that we keep this quiet, I can send a team to you should Chevalier give me the word."

"Thank you, Myrddin. Just make sure you're absolutely clear that none of this gets back to the PRT before we make a move on him." Soon enough, it is just you and Chevalier again, and you offer him your arm to whisk yourselves away to the heart of your target area. "Now we just have to wait," you tell him with a sigh. "Unless you can use your power to search for people like Vista apparently can?"

"I'm afraid not."

A couple of minutes later comes a text from Vista with an address, and after relaying the message to Samantha and Dragon, the pair of you join her. "I found where Bakuda is hiding," she tells you while pointing a chromed finger at an old rundown apartment building. "Every room I looked into from the windows was abandoned, but there are definitely people there. Not squatters, either. I don't know where they are hiding, but somebody's there no matter what it looks like."

"Storm, can we get blueprints for the building?" A screen pops up at your command, and you point at a another unseen layer of the building. "There's a basement right here. I don't know if they're all crammed in there like sardines or if they expanded the basement into a proper compound or what, but that's probably where they are."

"They would have had to expand it somehow," Vista says with absolute certainty. "I don't know how to put it in a way you'd understand, but it doesn't feel right for the number of people in there to be that close together."

That makes the blueprint all but useless. "Fine. Storm, Dragon, I need you two to keep searching for where Coil's base would be. The rest of us? We need to decide how to get into her workshop and shut her down _hard_."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	127. Heatstroke 10-5

**Heatstroke 10.5**

Chevalier shifts from where he stands next to you, the soft grinding of his armor's plates the only sign of his changed position. "Calamity Witch, your pocket dimension is an exact duplicate of your surroundings, correct? And you can choose which capes you bring into that dimension?"

"I can't choose who comes in," you tell him with a shake of your head. "It's based on the mechanics of their powers. It's a perfect copy of where I set up the field, though, yeah. Why?"

"Attacking a Tinker in their own workshop is always a risky proposition, and for Bakuda, I am quite concerned about where she might have placed booby traps for anyone sneaking in. If your field is so exact, is it possible for use it for reconnaissance? Figure out exactly what she has hidden where and where she is most likely hiding, maybe capture her in the process without anyone else knowing we were even here?"

You open your mouth only to close it again. That is a very good question, and one that you don't think you have ever considered before. « _Storm?_ »

« _…Undetermined. Recursion Field never used in such fashion. Previous deployments on high-magic worlds. All combatants mages and therefore brought into dimensional barrier. Earth Bet low-magic. Parahuman engineers questionable if affected by barrier. Stratagem possible._ »

"I don't know that a Tinker would be sucked up, but even if she isn't, I can't think of a good reason why that plan wouldn't work," you tell him after another minute's thought on your own.

"Then let's do that. We'll search the building bottom to top, and if we don't find Bakuda, we can determine where the best place to attack is."

A twirl of your staff and a thought later, and a wave of not-color washes over the area. The faint greyscale of Recursion Field is a novel sight for Chevalier and even Vista, despite the latter hero having seen in once before during the ill-fated fight with Cadejo. Dragon's screen, on the other hand, goes on the fritz and vanishes with a staticky crackle. Chevalier glances where the screen used to be. "I suppose your assumption is right. A Tinker would not be pulled into this dimension of yours."

Sadly, he has spoken too soon. Another couple of seconds pass before the screen reappears. _"Sorry about that,"_ Dragon says, sounding slightly out of breath, as strange as that is to think about. _"I wasn't expecting to be affected like the rest of you."_

"So Bakuda's stuck in here with us, too?" asks Vista, her metallic fist opening and closing a couple of times in anticipation.

" _I can't even begin to make that assumption. Since my current craft runs on similar technology to Shipwright's and Calamity Witch's, that may be the reason I was hit too. There is just no way to know for sure."_

Chevalier nods before he, along with Vista and Samantha, make their way to the apartment. You, however, shoot the former A.I. a look. "Using mana-technology is enough to bring the Sybaris with us into Recursion Field?"

" _Not exactly,"_ Dragon says with a sheepish look, her digital avatar vanishing to reveal her real face. Behind her is not the metal walls you would expect from an aircraft nor the fabric of a pilot's seat. Instead it is open air and a couple of skyscrapers. _"The Sybaris is still there in the real world. When the barrier went up, I found myself falling out of the sky. It's a very good thing I can fly. Otherwise the results would have been… messy."_

"Because you're a Device," you say slowly, the pieces fitting together. "Recursion Field was designed to suck up mages into an arena where they could fight without wrecking the rest of the world. You're practically a mage in your own right now, so of course you wouldn't be an exception. It sucks that you can't bring your ships in here with you, though," you finish with a grimace. The Dragoncraft would have provided a welcome amount of firepower.

" _There may be a way around that. I'll have to do some experimenting. For now, I can't exactly offer much help."_ The screen returns to the face she presents to the world. "You better catch up with the others. Keep the connection up; I might still be able to give you advice on what is what. It takes a Tinker to catch a Tinker, you know," she adds with a wink.

Somebody demolished the front door of the apartment building by the time you catch up, and you give… actually, all three of the other heroes a suspicious glance. You would have assumed it was Chevalier or Samantha, but considering the synthetic muscles she now has, Vista is a suspect too. The guilty expression she wears, the wooden fragments she is brushing off her knuckles, and the shocked face Chevalier is making seal the deal. A shake of your head, and you step inside. "Any guesses where the stairs to the basement are?"

"That might not be as relevant as you might think." You turn to Chevalier, who still flicks his eyes at Vista every now and again even though he otherwise is facing you. "Any chance you can make a hole in the floor? We can find the way up later."

A low-powered Solar Wrath is more than enough to make a new skylight for the basement, and you drop down to the ground and light up a Flare Shooter. Any doubts you had about this being a Tinker's workshop are laid to rest when you see the oblong shells sitting on a nearby table, some of them complete while the rest are in various stages of construction. That by itself is enough to worry you, but sadly Bakuda is not one to underwhelm, for only a couple of feet away sits a grenade launcher.

"Great," you say with a resigned sigh. "She doesn't just have weird-ass bombs. She's going to be shooting them at us."

"Worse." You look over to find Samantha squatting on the ground next to a boxy-looking thing. "Throw Dragon my way. I'm no Tinker, but I think this might be another bomb."

" _Quite possib— Ugh!"_ Her grunt comes after you fling her screen like a Frisbee towards your Guardian Beast, and the upgraded raccoon looks down at her in concern. For all that her face is composed of blue numbers falling down the screen, she looks distinctly green at the moment. _"Please,"_ she begs, _"for the love of all that is good in this world, don't do that again. I think I'm about to throw up."_

Your eyes catch Samantha's and find the same question you are wondering. How in the world could Dragon throw up when she doesn't have a stomach? Or… _does_ she have a stomach? How accurate did Tim make her anatomy?

On second thought, never mind. That leads to questions you don't need answers to.

The Tinker collects herself and looks down at the box. _"It's a bomb, alright. No wires, so you can't just cut a cord and deactivate it that way. It could be set up to explode with proximity, but I have my doubts. Most likely it's either contact-triggered or remotely detonated. I'd put my money on the latter, which means Bakuda would have to keep the remote on her person. I can't tell you what it will look like, though. A television remote, a military-grade grip detonator. If her power is broader than just bombs, it may be more high-tech. Voice-activated, or a display built into an armband or even her mask."_

"So bag her and strip her to be sure," Vista says with a frown. "Who's pouncing on her?"

Chevalier comes back in from a doorway at the far side of the room. "The best option would be Samantha and myself. We don't know how many underlings she has or how well they're armed. My armor and her power should protect us enough that we can focus on making sure Bakuda can't set any of these bombs off."

The Ward opens her mouth to protest, but you're faster. "That works. Guess that means you're stuck with me, Vista. I think I have a plan, too. If I dropped the field now, we'd all pop out in her workshop, right where we're standing." You turn around and point at two spots against the walls where random boxes are stacked up to make some convenient recesses. "You two hide there, and Vista and I can be outside. We make a loud, flashy entrance, get everyone running towards us, and then you pop out of hiding and hit her from behind. She won't expect you to appear out of nowhere."

"We'll need to check the rest of the building first," Chevalier warns. "Just because the building looked abandoned doesn't mean there aren't squatters living here. We can't bring down the building on top of them."

The four of you, five if you include Dragon, leave the basement and make quick work searching the upper floors for signs of life. You actually find some, but rather than the sleeping arrangements of the homeless you find cots and boxes of military rations. This is no one's home; is is a base for the mercenaries Coil must have loaned to Bakuda to help her do her dirty work. In other words, acceptable targets.

Now it is time to split up, and a screen for Samantha's face joins Dragon's. _"In position,"_ she tells you. _"After you drop Recursion Field, we'll give you ten seconds to make as much noise as you possibly can before we jump out. Make 'em count."_

"Oh, ten seconds will be plenty. Ready to rumble?" you ask the girl next to you.

Vista doesn't answer with words. She holds her left arm up, and her hand spins around and around on her wrist a couple of times. Her palm splits into pieces and reconfigures itself while her forearm unfolds. Soon enough, what used to be a functional hand looks like a trio of prongs surrounding a circular hole that crackles and glows a menacing acid green. The smile she gives you is feral.

No wonder you and Samantha like her.

"Three. Two." A dozen Flare Shooters form around you. "One."

Zero.

You let go of Recursion Field and watch color rush back into the world.

The building has barely returned to normal before the particle cannon built into Vista's arm lets out a high-pitched squeal and unleashes a bolt of plasma. Once more the door disintegrates, this time accompanied by large chunks of the walls next to it, and the residual heat barrels into the room to flash-ignite the wallpaper and the yellowing books on the desk. Vista's laughter is almost maniacal. "Knock knock, mother-frickers!"

You can't help it. You slap your hand against your face with a sigh. No more Samuel L. Jackson movies for her.

"…Sorry."

Samantha gave you ten seconds, but it takes only two before purple lasers lance out from around corners. They splash pointlessly against the shield you quickly cast, and a moment later your triangular shield is joined by a round one in the same green as Vista's plasma. Your magic bullets hurtle inside to punch through the walls hiding the mercenaries.

Or they were until part of the room is sucked up into a miniature black hole that forms in midair. That Flare Shooter must have hit a bomb, and if they're shooting Tinkertech grenades at you now…

A glint catches your eye, and you barely have enough time to spin the code for your telekinesis. A mental hand grabs the grenade right after it sails through the hole Vista made and tosses it skywards. This one is not a black hole; instead it explodes into an enormous ball of fire that you are sure can be seen from a good distance away.

That element of surprise you had going for you? You should probably kiss that goodbye.

The next grenade you catch you throw back to where it came from, which promptly disappears in a whirlpool of color. When the detonation is over, everything in that area is half-melted goop, even stuff that shouldn't melt. Like wood, or carpet. Or skeletons still dressed in ragged fatigues. You avert your eyes in time to see another mercenary fall after an orange fireball explodes in his face.

Is it strange that their own – admittedly assisted – friendly fire is more lethal than your own attacks?

While you were busy ruminating and throwing random grenades at people, Vista has been taking care of the lasers in the most breathtaking manner imaginable. Her shield can protect her, so like you she has not even bothered dodging. The different beams are now all bent towards a single point to create a three-dimensional sculpture of light hanging in the air in front of her as they constantly cross each other's path. The floating diagram shrinks down from three feet in diameter to a measly six inches, and she twists her head to flash you a smile. "Watch this. Fire in the hole!"

A hole forms in that cage of warped space. You know this only because the lasers race out as a widening cone of burning light, and the resulting carnage puts her particle cannon to shame. You blink in shock at the callousness you just witnessed as sweet little Vista kills the team of mercenaries attacking you, but then you hear it.

Groans of pain. Those henchmen are, somehow, still alive.

"I'm not a Tinker, obviously, but it's funny the kinds of things you can learn from them," Vista says as she deactivates her shield, either aware of your surprise or just wanting to brag a little. "Kid Win? Lasers were about the only things he could build reliably and that he didn't immediately take apart again, but he had a lot of trouble with math and stuff, and he was constantly puttering around with all sorts of equations. I was around enough that I learned some of the physics behind them just by osmosis. Then Miss Militia one day tried to teach us how to play pool, and she is phenomenal at bouncing pool balls off the bumpers. It's all about the angles.

"Put the two of them together, and a couple of times Kid and I tried to work on bouncing his lasers around corners and catching them again. The bouncing, not a problem. Catching, now that's harder. I can corral a laser, but keeping it too long in twisted space makes it spread out, and after a while the laser is just a big flashlight. Then again, Kid's lasers wouldn't hurt you if he shot you. They were basically just a strong punch. With these?" She walks into the apartment, her eyes moving around to make sure nobody would try jumping up or out from around a corner. "Either spreading the light out would make it harmless, or it would hurt them but still wouldn't kill them. No matter which, it was something we could use."

"You can say that again," you mutter while you stare down at the twitching form of one of the mercenaries. His clothing is singed with sunburned skin just barely visible underneath it, but his hands and eyes had no such protection. Those bits of flesh are shocked white and look to be forming blisters already.

You taught yourself a few things about how heat and light affects the eyes when you started using fireballs as your primary weapon, and as a result you decide not to tell her just what happens when lasers intense enough to burn skin hit delicate eyeballs. She doesn't need to know that most likely none of these men will ever see again.

The building suddenly shakes, and you lift off the ground as the floor bucks beneath you. That can only mean one thing: one of Bakuda's booby traps just went off. The floor is damaged now, and you fling Flare Shooters in a circle that quickly destabilizes what's left. You drop down into the burning basement, preparing yourself to start fighting a fully aware and well-armed Tinker.

Instead you see Samantha climbing to her feet, a lump of coal and ash lying close to her.

"Are you okay?" you demand, to which she finally gives you a nod. That loosens the tight band wrapped around your heart, and now you glance around. There is Chevalier, standing up himself, and a couple of mercenaries lying on the ground still, but of the mad bomber herself you see no sign. "Where's Bakuda?"

Samantha points at the ash pile. "Right there."

…What.

"All but two of her henchmen left to deal with you," Chevalier says, holding onto his side. "I focused on them while Samantha jumped on top of Bakuda. I don't fully know what happened after."

Samantha shakes her head. "I think her detonator was in her mask. I was busy keeping her hands occupied. She was facing that box over there"—she waves her hand at a gigantic scorch mark on the wall—"and then everything was on fire. I think she meant for it to be a fusion bomb or something; it looked and felt like I was staring into the sun right before the shockwave hit."

You hold back a sigh of relief. Trying to harm you or Samantha with fire? That is a terrible idea considering you are both fireproof due to Perfect storm's meddling. The blast itself could still do damage, but Samantha's own version of a Barrier Jacket would protect her.

Except now you have to deal with the fact that the scraps of burning wood are all next to weird bombs, and you have no idea how delicate they are. Would a nearby flame be enough to set them off?

The head of your staff swings around to point at the nearest grenade. "Storm, seal everything up!"

" _Understood, Mistress. Sealing mode!"_

The prongs on the staff head's flange unscrew themselves to reveal vents, and planes of orange light slide out from its arms. Shaped like this, Perfect Storm looks more like a ritual staff than a weapon. Blinding beams of light shoot out one by one to hit the bombs you can see; when they fade away, so have the bombs they were touching. You make a quick dance around the room to pick up everything you can. The smoke filling the basement is another problem, but that's one that won't kill your immediately.

"Good thinking," Chevalier says with a slight cough as he starts walking towards the door he had previously been exploring back in Recursion Field. "We can drop them off at the local Protectorate branch before we go home."

Sure, sure. You look down at Perfect Storm's head and give it a slight nod at its quiet question. You will return most of the bombs, definitely, but Tim and Dragon might be able to make something cool with some of these.

"Damn it. I hoped I was wrong."

The soft curse catches your attention, and you drift over to the doorway to peek over Chevalier's shoulder. Inside that room are rows of tables, each one holding a disheveled man or woman hooked up to an IV pole. "Chicago has a lot of homeless," he explains. "A dozen or two wouldn't be missed when they disappear, nor would they be remarkable when they turned back up. There's a cabinet at the back with surgical tools."

"Why would she need surgical tools?" you ask despite the bone-deep instinct that you don't want to know.

"I think she put bombs in these people. Planned to at the very least." Chevalier slams his fist against the wall, his righteous anger boiling over. "She was going to turn all these people into walking bombs. They wouldn't even know what happened to them until she set off the devices. It would throw this city into chaos."

You don't want to add to his bad mood, but… "Our fight outside wasn't quiet. I had to deflect of grenades into the air. If Coil saw that, or even heard about it, our window of opportunity to to catch him by surprise is almost over."

"Never count on luck. That's what kills even the most powerful capes." He shakes his head. "We still don't know where his base is, either. We definitely will lose our chance to move on him if we have to look under every rock in the city."

" _Further search not necessary. Mistress, contact from Dragon."_

Dragon opens a screen next to you. _"Calamity, Chevalier. I found where Coil's base is. I was looking through his data some more, and that's when I realized he owns Fortress Construction, the company that built the Endbringer shelters throughout North America and Europe. From there I just had to narrow the search to where those shelters are, and I found it. It's in Hyde Park. It was started and then officially abandoned, so it was barred to the public, but it is still consuming power and water according to city records. It's active."_

"An Endbringer shelter," Chevalier repeats slowly. "That would be a perfect base. Solid construction, entrances and exits into a resource-heavy part of the city. He could move himself and his men around easily."

It is a nice theory, and probably right, but there is still one big elephant in the room that no one is paying any attention. "How do we know he's even there? He still could be in that PRT meeting."

"There's only one way to find out. We need to search one of them." Another coughing fit hits him. "But let's get out of the smoke first."

* * *

 **And nothing of value was lost.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	128. Heatstroke 10-6

**Heatstroke 10.6**

You take in the damaged remains of Bakuda's workshop once everyone is out, and ideas roll around in your head. "Hey, Chevalier?" you ask. "What do you think the actual chances are that all that went unnoticed?"

He turns to you with an incredulous expression. "…Slim to none."

"That's what I figured. Do you think you can call up Myrddin again? We didn't want to tip off Coil that we knew his identity, but if Myrddin already has people in place like he said he could, they can hold him at the PRT building if he's there. We're already close to his base, which gives his men less time to prepare for us."

"But if he isn't at his base, how would anyone there even know we're coming after them? Or are we going there just in case he isn't at the PRT?" asks Vista.

" _Some of it is a precautionary measure,"_ Dragon agrees, _"but a mercenary force like he has? They would be expected to be able to act independently when needed. They may even have contingency plans should his identity be revealed. They're a complication that we don't want making this a bigger mess than it will be already."_

Chevalier needs only a couple of minutes to make the call and explain the change in plan, and he does that as the four of you take a trip into a nicer part of the city. It starts to become less of a surprise that he would pick this particular location as the heart of his territory, and Samantha appears to agree with you. "Is it just me, or would this be a bad part of town for a massive villain fight to break out?"

" _It's not just you. Hyde Park is home to the University of Chicago as well as a major hub economically. The sort of area that if attacked would lead to the city government pushing the PRT to stamp out whomever caused the trouble in the first place. So long as his forces were not the ones at fault, or did not appear to be at fault anyway, they would reap yet more benefits from law enforcement."_

"Especially considering that Coil could use his position to shift the blame to whomever his men were fighting anyway," Samantha adds with a nod. "Clever snake, I'll give him that much."

A squat, round building can soon be seen nestled in between large overpass bridges, and your party slows to a stop. "Coil's a paranoid son of a bitch," you think out loud. "Hey, Storm, Dragon, do you guys think you could look in and see if there's a security system or something you could take control of? Maybe we can check that he's actually there or even lock the doors on everybody inside."

« _Attempting_.»

Dragon also gives you a nod, but after a minute or two her avatar frowns. _"It doesn't look like it. If I had to take a guess, I would say that he probably has his security on a closed system. There is_ _ **one**_ _connection I can find that looks to go into the building, but it's hitting a firewall that I don't know if I could break without making some noise."_

« _Agreed. Control plausible if connected to physical node._ »

"Looks like we're headed inside, then. Anyone want to vote against an encore of our Recursion Field exploration?"

With no voices of dissension, you throw out the dimensional barrier to cover the Endbringer shelter turned villain hangout. A sigil appears beneath Samantha as soon as the barrier stabilizes, and then she throws out the red sparks of Wide Area Search.

"What is that?" asks Chevalier.

"Search spell. Everything went smoothly enough against Bakuda that I'm worried Coil might have a couple of capes under his thumb as well. I'd rather know ahead of time if we will have to put them down." A screen appears at her elbow. "But it looks like we're once again in luck. No capes around, or at least none with powers that get them sucked up."

If you don't need to clear a bunch of villains out of Recursion Field first, that makes the upcoming task that much easier. A tightly focused Solar Wrath rips a hole in yet another empty lair, and your team makes their way inside without difficulty. As though to smooth matters out more, this base has no obvious bombs lurking in the corners to jump out at you. Instead you get a good look at the wide-open spaces and the crisscrossing catwalks while you slowly drift along. Everyone peeks inside various doors and hallways, but nothing obvious catches your attention until Chevalier finds an otherwise unremarkable office room near the center of the base.

"Five bucks says this is where Coil does most of his work," Samantha announces without preamble.

A shake of Chevalier's head, and he says, "No one is going to take you up on a bet that obvious. What I'm more interested in is whether he's here."

"Only one way to find out, isn't there?" You wave Vista to fully enter the room. The door was closed in Recursion Field, which should mean that it is closed in the real world. So long as nobody outside has any clue that things are going south…

Chevalier gives you a nod, and you drop the barrier.

You had hoped to catch Coil off-guard, but it appears that will not be the case. The room is empty.

"Where the hell is he?"

"It is still possible that he is somewhere else within the base," says Chevalier, "but more likely he is at the PRT base. Hopefully Myrddin has managed to hold him there."

"That's all well and good, but we still have a bunch of mercenaries to deal with," Samantha points out. "They're going to make things complicated."

" _Not as much as you might believe."_ You turn to Dragon's screen with a raised eyebrow. _"One of these computers is bound to be connected to the overall security system. If Perfect Storm can hack one of them…"_

« _Suggestion likely._ » Without a command on your end, dark purplish casting triangles spin into place and spit out long pronged cords. Those cords physically tear into the computer itself and plug into different spots in the circuit boards. A flurry of screens appear and vanish until there are only a few floating in the air. _"Security system accessed. Mistress desires what?"_

That is a very good question, and not one you have an immediate answer for. "Do you know where all the mercenaries are?"

" _Affirmative. Can track enemy movements."_

"Hit them all in small groups and beat the hell out of them?" Samantha gives you a nod. "I like that plan."

" _The only issue is that Perfect Storm will need to stay connected to the system to maintain that level of control. Which means you would need to stay here as well,"_ Dragon reminds you.

"It's alright, Calamity. We got this."

Chevalier does not argue against Vista's statement, and with a sigh you turn back to the screens. Another screen pops up without your command, showing a blueprint of the Endbringer shelter with a red line moving through it. _"If I might make a recommendation,"_ Dragon says, _"this is the most direct path through the base. So long as the mercenaries are trapped in small groups, you should be able to neutralize them with little risk."_

At this point you have little argument to raise other than not wanting to be stuck doing this part of the job, so you let out yet another sigh. "Okay. Storm, box them up."

Heavy metal doors slide shut throughout the building, and thanks to the screens you can see the mercenaries start grabbing weapons and slamming their hands on keypads. Those keypads won't help, though, not with Perfect Storm in complete control. Flicking a copy of the map screen to Samantha, you watch the trio leave Coil's office and head towards the first set of henchmen.

" _I hate this part."_ You glance over to see the feed of Dragon's avatar has been replaced once more by her face. _"Waiting, knowing that there is nothing you can do but watch as other people take risks you would gladly shoulder yourself."_

"But you can now, can't you? I would have thought that to be one of the benefits of having a physical body."

" _Not as much as you would think. Yes, I have a body, but this body can't exactly do much if I go out and punch people. I get to be closer to the fight, but I am still dependent on building machines to go out and fight for me."_ She gives you a tight smile and a shrug. _"Which, to be honest, is far from the worst restriction I could possibly face. I just wanted you to know that I understand your current frustration."_

A door opens in front of the trio at Samantha's command, and they rush in to beat the mercenaries unconscious before anyone has a chance to respond to their sudden presence. Helped in large measure by Vista widening the gap as the door opens so that the mercenaries have quite literally no warning between door being closed and then three people jumping inside with them. "Yeah," you agree when you see a couple of mercenaries picking up grenade launchers, "frustrating is one word for it. Guys, keep an eye out. It looks like these guys are carrying Bakuda's ammo. Marking which rooms they're in on your map now."

Between Samantha's speed and Inherent Forcefield, Chevalier's armor and cannonblade, and Vista's powers and prosthetic, they need little time to clear out the main rooms in the base. _"Anyone else?"_ Vista asks via Samantha's map screen.

"Not that I can see, but I don't know for sure that Coil has cameras everywhere in the building. There may be a few blind spots."

" _We don't have time to check them all,"_ Chevalier interrupts. You look at the relevant camera feed to find him checking his phone. _"Myrddin just sent me a message. Sounds like he finally lost his patience and barged into the meeting, except they had already sent Calvert out with a couple of the PRT teams to lock down Bakuda's workshop."_

"What?! I thought Myrddin posted people around the building so that this kind of thing wouldn't happen!"

" _He did, but it sounds like a couple of them were drafted by the PRT teams heading out. New members who may have thought this was all part of the plan. He tried to contact the team in Calvert's vehicle, but they're all in the wind. If I had to guess, I would say he grabbed a squad filled with people loyal to him in particular and rabbited."_

Miscommunication and underestimation. That was all it took for Coil to try escaping from your grip. "I am not going to let him get away from me so he can try this all again and again. Storm, Dragon, find him!"

* * *

 **I know this chapter is subpar, but between RL being a bitch and my muse being uncooperative, I just wanted to get this chapter over and done with. I want this whole arc done with, honestly.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	129. Heatstroke 10-7

**Heatstroke 10.7**

" _I have a lead on Calvert's position,"_ Dragon says after a few minutes. _"PRT vehicles are equipped with multiple trackers. He disabled most of them, but he didn't touch the toll pass put on all vehicles to waive the fee on interstates. There's a prisoner transport headed southwest on I-55 that I can't locate with any other method."_

"That has to be him." He's on the run, but he won't get away from you that easily. "Can you get a better location for him?"

" _Not yet, but I'm still working on it."_

"Calamity, you and Samantha go after him," orders Chevalier. You had gone to join him and the rest of the group while you waited impatiently for Dragon's information, too angry to bear being by yourself or waiting for them to come back to you. "Vista and I can't fly, and there's too much chaos on the freeway for us to help chase him down. We'll stay here and finish securing the base. There are still a few rooms we can't see on the cameras."

Vista glares at his back for a second or two before sighing and giving you a nod. A twirl of your staff, and you laser yourself a hole in the ceiling. "Dragon, any directions you have would be appreciated."

" _Sending toll booth coordinates to Storm now. The Sybaris will meet you there."_

With the speed at which you two can fly, it takes less than a minute to race past the toll booth and slow down enough that you can actually see what's going on around you. "Come on!" you shout to Samantha. "This can't be that hard. Look for a PRT truck and cripple it."

If you had to guess based on the honking horns below you, most people in Chicago are less than familiar with heroes flying ten feet or less above their heads. Or maybe they're honking at each other because traffic is slow; who knows? You see several dark vans and only slightly fewer station wagons, but not a single one of them the boxy contraptions used to haul prisoners around.

"I'm going a couple of miles ahead," Samantha tells you. "I'll work backwards while you keep going forwards. I'll let you know if I spot him first."

"Same."

Orange light surrounds her for a second before she vanishes. Alone again, you continue your search, eyes never ceasing their survey of the road. After about ten minutes, you see Samantha flying back in your direction. "Anything?" you ask.

She shakes her head.

"Dragon, they aren't here. Maybe they pulled off on one of the exits. Can you find them?"

Dragon looks off her screen and reaches over as though to tap a button. _"Maybe. If he pulled back into the city streets, it's going to be much more complicated to track him down. I will look through street cameras, but that is going to take a while. In the meantime, he may still be on a highway. He could have taken Highway 50 south; it would lead him to I-290."_

Your Guardian Beast lays her hand on your shoulder. "Teleport to that intersection with I-290. We'll do the same thing on 50 we did here while Dragon is searching elsewhere."

This time you are the one who whisks yourself to the next location, and even though you keep your attention mostly focused on the road, you can not help but be distracted by the plane that just took off a short distance ahead of you. "Uh, Dragon? Is there any chance the reason we can't find him is because he decided to take a plane?"

" _No. I already have a program running through the photo IDs of everyone who has checked in to O'Hare and Midway. He hasn't tried to buy a regular ticket, and there aren't any private flights scheduled for the next five hours. Trust me, I have that avenue of escape firmly in hand."_

Thank goodness _one_ of you is thinking ahead.

" _Found him,"_ she says after another couple of minutes, soon after Samantha meets up with you again. _"He's headed down South Pulaski Road, not far from Highway 50. I think he's trying to get to the mall not far from there."_

"At the mall, he and his men could buy new clothes. They'd be unrecognizable," Samantha says. "Between that and hijacking a car, we'd never find them again."

"But we have them now. Dragon, can you give me exact coordinates?"

" _Here. They just turned onto West 76th going towards the mall."_

"Ready for this?" you ask your partner. She gives you a bloodthirsty smile that you return without hesitation, and then the code is spinning through your head once more. You reappear over a road, and the instant after you find the truck you are throwing a white-hot Flare Shooter through the engine.

The truck stalls to a halt.

It takes a few seconds, but then the back doors open to let a skeletally thin man step out. You drift around and down close enough to see that yes, this really is Calvert. He looks up at you and twitches. He pulls his gun from its holster, and you create a swarm of Flare Shooters only for him to toss it away and raise his hands. A single motion on your part convinces him to kneel.

"The rest of your men, too."

It takes a moment, but he mutters something. The other fake PRT agents leave the truck and join him on the ground.

" _Calamity, we found Tattletale,"_ Chevalier says as a screen springs into existence. _"I don't think she was after you of her own accord. We found her in one of the rooms Coil's cameras weren't watching. She's in withdrawal right now, but from what we could get out of her, he forcibly addicted her to heroin or morphine and forced her to give him information in exchange for another fix. Find that bastard and bring him down."_

A wicked grin curves your lips. "Oh, we don't have to worry about Coil ever again. I have him right where I want him. On his knees."

* * *

 **More than a few of you figured out what was going on with Tattletale** _ **real**_ **early. Am I getting that predictable? :(**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	130. Heatstroke 10-x

**Heatstroke 10.x**

"… _Now, regarding the recent movements of the Revengers…"_

Thomas Calvert sighed, even if the effect was ruined by dint of only being able to do it in one of his dual timelines. He did not need to hear about the movements of the very team of capes he had hired to do his more obvious dirty work. He already knew them in greater detail than the fools running the PRT ever would.

Sadly, he could not completely ignore these blowhards, not without risk to his position as team leader of the Chicago PRT. A small risk, but a risk nonetheless. It was why he had the meeting on speakerphone here at his base while he was planning out his men's next mission, and in his disposable timeline he had even deigned to attend in person. It was in that timeline, of course, that he could not show his utter lack of interest.

The door to the PRT conference room opened, and an assistant of some such scurried in. "S-S-Sorry to interrupt, sir, but there's a situation… Um…"

Rather than snap at the sniveling peon, Director Carpenter waved him into the room. "Speak up, son. What's going wrong now?"

"A building in Englewood just exploded." The various team leaders and administrators leaned in to listen more carefully, and even Thomas found himself concerned in both timelines. Englewood? That was where he had stuffed Bakuda and set her to making more of her bombs. Had she finally gone off the reservation as he had half-expected her to do? "The reports are… really weird. Black holes and ice and other things."

"It sounds like someone stumbled onto Bakuda's workshop, then. Thank you, Simmons." The aide rushed back out, and Carpenter turned to face Thomas. "Calvert, get a couple of teams together. I want PRT presence there five minutes ago."

Of course, in the timeline he was going to keep, the words were slightly different. _"Murphy, get a couple of teams together. I want boots on the ground five minutes ago. We'll resume the meeting once this matter has been resolved."_

Finally. In his base he hung up the phone while in the PRT building he gave the Director a nod and made his way from the conference room near the top of the building to the elevator that would take him to the garage. He pulled up a list on his office computer of which of his agents were working that day. He could not permit Bakuda to be brought into custody. Considering the unstable woman's narcissism and ego, the chances of her folding and revealing anything to the PRT would normally be minimal, but Carpenter had a damnable sort of charisma that had converted more than one villain who would otherwise be bound for prison.

He also called the team leaders of his mercenaries to come to his office. His base was closer to Bakuda's workshop than the PRT building, so they would be able to reach her and pick her up before the PRT could get there. She would undoubtedly be livid about being found, which would only serve to drive her deeper into his pocket. Or, if it turned out she had not been discovered and had just been playing around, it would give him the opportunity to discipline her for being so reckless.

The elevator dinged and opened, and he stepped out to find a small knot of agents forming in front of him. He called out several of the members and organized them into three teams. "Cavanaugh, Young, Lovins, Desmuch, you four with me. Let's move, people."

Everyone scattered into trucks, and he followed his men into the back of one as well. "What's the plan?" asked Desmuch when the door was closed and the recording devices placed in every PRT vehicle as a Master-Stranger precaution were shut down. Lovins put the truck into gear and followed after the others out of the garage, his eyes still looking back at them through the rearview mirror.

"Carpenter thinks it might be Bakuda's workshop that exploded. If that's the case, we pick her up and take a detour to let her out. She threatened to detonate failsafes she has hidden through the city and I decided it was better to release her so those bombs could be found and disarmed rather than risking innocent bystanders. While I'm handling her 'arrest', find out who found her and set off a confrontation. We need them painted as villains—"

Orange light flashed in his office, and before he could blink the spots out of his eyes an intense heat brushed over his face. It was enough that his mask actually caught fire. He screamed in shock and surprise and shoved himself away from his desk to rip the head of his bodysuit off before the flames could burn his eyes.

"Hey there, Coil," a young woman's voice said in a mocking voice. "I'm sorry, or is it… Thomas Calvert?" He looked up to meet the intruder's eyes only for his mouth to drop slightly. In his office was that Hebert girl and her pet Case 53, an energy blade attached to the side of her staff. Her he could manage, but next to her was the true elephant in the room. Chevalier had his trademark cannonblade braced against his shoulder. "It's so hard to keep your identities straight—"

He severed that timeline and took a couple of deep breaths from the safety of the PRT van in what was meant to be his disposable timeline. Chevalier. If the head of the Philadelphia Protectorate was involved, that could only mean that the truth of his identity was out. Carpenter would not have sent him into the field if the PRT directors knew, but it was only a matter of time before the information spread, and there was no way he could get ahead of it.

"Boss?"

"Change of plans," he said, projecting confidence to his men. That was the problem with mercenaries; they would only follow so long as they knew their employer would and could keep paying them. He knew that from personal experience. How many people had he turned on once it became obvious that no matter what happened his employer at the time would be arrested or killed and leave him out in the cold? "Heroes just broke into the base. Head to the nearest safehouse outside city limits. We will regroup once everyone else arrives. Deactivate all the tracking mechanisms in the truck in the meantime."

That would keep them in line for the moment. As soon as he was no longer in immediate danger, he could kill them all as quickly as possible before moving on. He had a number of false identities to choose from when it was safe.

Run. Adopt a new identity. Salvage as many of his resources as possible. Then and only then would he stop to plan anew.

The fastest way to the safehouse was via the interstate, and he relaxed slightly when they had merged with the rest of the traffic. That calm was shattered when they had to pass through the toll booth. This was exactly how the PRT had been able to capture Mockshow when she animated one of their vehicles, by detecting her crossing through a toll booth early in the morning when no one human was watching.

The timelines split.

"Get us off the freeway," he told Lovins in one of them. "The next exit, get us to another road out of the city that doesn't have tolls."

In the other, he kept his silence. The PRT probably would not even think to track them this way, and even if they did, it would happen after they were too far away for that to give their pursuers more than a general direction.

"Um, Commander? What's that?"

He leaned forwards to see what Lovins was talking about. Above I-55 a shimmer in the sky faded to reveal a gunmetal grey aircraft with a red and orange dragon head painted on the nose.

That bitch had _Dragon_ involved in this too?!

The dragon's mouth glowed a bright blue, and bolts of light rained down on the asphalt right in front of them. Lovins had no time to stop before a trio of laser blasts blew holes in the hood of the truck. Orange light shined inside the back from the windows mounted inside the rear doors, and he closed that timeline as soon as he caught sight of the witch's hat.

The timelines split.

"Go to the airport," he told one set of men while the rest stayed on Highway 50. They were moving towards the next interstate, so if they could just get there they could lose themselves in the traffic. And this time, there would be no way for Hebert to find them.

They were halfway to I-290 and approaching the Midland airport in the two respective timelines when a dark-clad figure landed on the surface of Highway 50. "Idiot," he said with a tight sneer. "Run. Her. Over."

"Yes, sir."

The girl shifted slightly, and a tiny ball of light appeared. Did she really think she could stop them with _that_?

The light raced towards them, and it was no longer a dot. It was an ever-growing circle that had now reached the same width as the road, and it was then that they drove into it. The truck vanished around them, and he screamed as the left side of his face was ripped apart by molten steel.

The timelines split.

"The airport is too exposed," he told the men. "Take us by residential roads toward I-55 again. We'll backtrack and find another way out of the city."

"Are you sure, sir? We're almost to the airport already."

"I know that! Get us out of here!"

The mercenaries looked at each other, and he worried that he would have to drop this timeline already. Rather than continue arguing, however, Lovins turned the wheel and directed them down some little two-lane road. In the car still moving towards the airport, he rubbed his temples. Hebert was persistent, that much was sure, but even with Dragon her ability to find him had to be limited. It was just not possible for her to stay on top of him.

Due to the comparative speeds of the two trucks, it was no surprise that the one headed for the airport made it to its goal while the other had barely left that road. He jumped out of the truck as soon as possible and ripped off his tie to stuff it in his jacket. He would need to buy the first ticket he could find and move on from there. The only blessing in this entire thing was that the PRT could not have frozen his accounts already, so purchasing the ticket would not be an issue.

A click came from behind him, and the mercenaries opened fire.

It was difficult to swallow, but somehow he managed it and did not even give the others any obvious looks of fear. Obviously the men were becoming suspicious, which meant they would not take long to turn on him.

The timelines split.

"Head to the Ford City Mall."

"Pull over."

The men in the first truck did as he ordered, but in the second Young gave him a suspicious glance. "Why?"

"The van is too suspicious. We'll find another car, hotwire it, and get out of town that way. Something is happening at the PRT base, and I want to be far away before it can reach us."

"What's the plan when we get to the mall?" Young asked in the timeline when his men were _not_ disobeying him.

"Get a new vehicle and new clothes. If need be, we can split up and meet at the safehouse independently." By which time he would be well away from all of them. It was looking like it was too dangerous to continue as a group. If he could leave them in the mall, all the better.

The second truck slowed to a stop next to an unremarkable minivan, and the five of them climbed out. With no need for subtlety, Cavanaugh broke the window of the driver's door and unlocked it. "Won't take me a minute to get it started."

Good, good. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the car. His building headache throbbed in time with the _thump-thump-thump_ growing louder overhead. Opening his eyes, he looked for the source only for more bright blue lasers to fall on top of them.

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, as much because of the pain stabbing into the back of his head as because of frustration. What the _hell_ was he supposed to do?!

The timelines split.

"Pull over."

"Why?"

"Because I said so, dammit!" The three men in back with him slowly moved their hands towards their guns, and that was the last straw. He grabbed his pistol and put a bullet in Desmuch's head before dropping the timeline and watching the buildings pass by as they headed towards the mall.

Fucking bitch. He was going to find her and kill her with his own two hands.

The truck took the turn onto the road leading to the parking lot, and Fate proved once again that she had abandoned him in favor of the Hebert cunt. A white-hot energy blast punched through the hood of the truck. They skidded to a halt, and he looked out the window to once more find Hebert, this time with her pet floating beside her.

The timelines split.

"Shoot them down!"

His mercenaries grabbed their guns and jumped out, bullets flying at the pair. A ball of light formed at the tip of her staff, and once more fire melted the world.

The timelines split.

"Run!"

Doors were flung open, and Thomas along with the other men jumped out of the car and started running. There were too many of them for the girl to take down at once, and if he could somehow get away…

He chanced a look back and saw several energy blasts flying at all the men simultaneously, and one of them came straight at him. He dived to the side only for it to smash into the side of his head, cutting off that timeline as well.

"Commander? What's the plan?" asked Cavanaugh. All four mercenaries watched him, and he knew that he was in nearly as much danger inside this truck as he would be outside.

He forced the pain from his fully grown migraine to the side. Without answering, he opened the back doors and stepped out. Hebert slowly flew closer.

The timelines split.

He grabbed his pistol and raised it to fire. A ball of light flicked down and exploded in his face.

This was it, wasn't it? He slowly drew his pistol, and while Hebert once again created a cluster of energy blasts, they stayed put in their lazy orbits when he threw the gun to the side. She waved her hand in an unmistakeable signal, and without any other choice he lowered himself to the ground with his hands up in the air.

"The rest of your men, too," she ordered.

The timelines split.

Pitching his voice low, he told the men, "Get out and _shoot her_." Young and Desmuch shared a look, then Young lifted his sidearm and shot him in the stomach.

That timeline was dropped, and he held back the urge to scream impotently. How?! How could this all have gone so _wrong_?! "Get out. We're done," he said, his voice resigned. He thought the mercenaries would once more rebel from the expressions on their faces, but they left the safety of the truck and laid down on the ground. Clearly they had no intentions of fighting this little girl of their own accord.

"… worry about Coil ever again. I have him right where I want him." Hebert came closer, and the smirk she wore made him wish he still had his gun so he could try once more to put a bullet in her fucking face. "On his knees."

* * *

 **And** _ **DONE**_ **. Whew.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	131. Cloudy Skies 11-1

**I have a decent enough head of steam with Black Queen that I'm reawakening this beast. I will almost certainly alternate between this and BQW until that story is finished.**

* * *

 **Cloudy Skies 11.1**

 **Saturday, June 25**

Orange light shines on the rooftop of Philadelphia's Protectorate Headquarters, and you, Samantha, Vista, and Chevalier step off the fading sigil. The light is swallowed up by the deepening evening, casting the two official heroes into shadow. Still, there is just enough light from the streets nearby to make out Chevalier turning to you and giving you a nod. "I can't say ripping Coil out from within the heart of Chicago's PRT office was fun, but I am grateful you brought this to our attention."

"The first part _was_ fun," argues Samantha, returning Vista's goodbye hug. "It was the rest of the time we had to spend there that was not at all entertaining. I can understand a debriefing, maybe even two, but we had to do it five times!"

You nod emphatically. "I'm with Samantha one hundred percent on this. If you have to do that every time you get back from a patrol, I'm almost surprised you manage to get any actual hero work done. Cut down the bureaucracy time, and you could probably squeeze another patrol or two in."

Chevalier crosses his arms, which… Okay, that was probably a little more direct and critical than you'd normally be about the Protectorate, particularly in light of the… issue of Vista's ultimatum regarding her lack of combat time, but you just spent three hours talking about the same fight over and over again! At this point you're afraid your dreams tonight will be a nightmare featuring the Chicagoan bigwigs demanding yet another from the top recitation—

"Is that so?"

All four of you whip your heads skyward, and down from the darkness drifts a woman garbed in black. Black bodysuit, black helmet, black cape. The only spot of color is the white tower detailed on her chest.

For all that she is known for her 'classic hero' three-point landings, the sight of Alexandria touching down silently is considerably more ominous.

"Alexandria? What are you doing here?" Chevalier asks. His voice sounds wary, but the shadow of his cannonblade has not moved from its position on his back. Between that and the fact that no one in their right mind who doesn't go by the name Siberian would ever want to take her on, it isn't exactly a leap of logic to realized he is worried about why a member of the Protectorate is here to see him right after he, a Ward, and two independent heroes went gallivanting off to cause trouble in another city.

"I received word from the Chief Director's office about your recent adventure in Chicago. Nobody is happy about the situation for too many reasons to go into detail about." She turned her head and very obviously stared the leading hero of Philadelphia down. "We will have a conversation about this later, Chevalier, but not tonight. I need to speak to the true architect of this debacle."

If you are upset about how quickly Chevalier and Vista vanish off the roof, it is honestly more to do with the fact that you can't join them.

"Calamity Witch. Let's have a chat."

The flying brick of the Triumvirate steps past you to stand at the edge of the building, the streetlights reducing her to little more than a clearly pissed-off silhouette. You reluctantly walk up to join her, though you keep several feet between the two of you. Even though you elected to stand to her right in deference to her lack of a left eye, she does not look at you, and then your view is mostly blocked off by Samantha stepping up to your left and putting herself mostly between the two of you.

Silence descends upon you for nearly a minute before Alexandria sighs. "I don't think you appreciate the gravity of your actions today. At least, I hope you don't. I would much prefer that this was the result of ignorance rather than active malice."

That careless dismissal rankles and burns under your skin. "Excuse me?! _I_ didn't hire a known murderer and scumbag into my team. _I_ didn't go around bombing innocent people's homes. You had better not be blaming me for what went down today."

"It was a mistake to offer Calvert a role in our organization," she acknowledges with a slow nod, "but it is not what you did that I have an issue with. It is how you did it. You had a legitimate grievance with him, so why did you not inform the PRT and the Protectorate of the information you possessed and let the matter be handled without risking the safety of the people in Chicago? It it clear not as though you lack contacts here in Philadelphia who would listen to you, not if you can convince the local branch leader to accompany you on this revenge mission."

"I didn't actually _invite_ Chevalier to come along. He tagged along because he refused to let Vista come on her own." That is not to say that his friendship with Myrddin and his knowledge of how the PRT operated was unhelpful, not in the least, but that is probably not the best defense you can muster. "And contacting the PRT? Why would I? Calvert wasn't hiding what kind of a monster he was. Not to mention, I know how this would play out. I'm not a Protectorate hero, but Calvert's a company man. Just accusing him of being a villain would be ignored or used against me, and I'm sure any evidence I provided would be conveniently 'lost'. I know how this game goes; I've played it before." It was the same thing that happened every time you tried to convince the staff at Winslow to stop Emma, Sophia, and Madison. "No, I had to drag him kicking and screaming into the light where there was no way anyone could ignore what was happening."

You glare past Samantha at Alexandria, but she does not turn to look back at you. She just continues looking out at the city. Her fingers tap rhythmically on her crossed arms. "The PRT does not work as well as it should on paper," she admits, "partly because of its nature as a national organization and partly because it can't if it is to fulfill its purpose, but inefficiency does not equate to widespread corruption. Based on the information I received from the Chief Director's office, I would estimate that nearly everyone who had any knowledge of Calvert's crimes prior to his imprisonment is dead. There would be no cover up. Did you not notice how Director Carpenter reacted to the news? He and his staff would have pulled Calvert in for a thorough investigation without hesitation.

"Instead, what happened is that you deepened and widened gaps the Protectorate and the PRT have been trying to remove since the organizations' inceptions. Did you have the misfortune of meeting Director Piggot when you were still in Brockton Bay?" You shake your head. "She is not the only member in the PRT's higher echelons who is prejudiced against capes for one reason or another. A villain infiltrating the ranks of the PRT and weakening it from the inside? Independent heroes and members of the Protectorate turning against PRT agents? This only fuels their efforts to tear the Protectorate and the PRT apart from each other, and the fact that both these issues are related will be quickly glossed over."

Alexandria shakes her head. "You don't understand how much effort it has taken to integrate capes and cape law enforcement into society. That is not a criticism; it simply happened before you were born, or at most when you were only a small child. You never saw the world capes first came into. It is our goal that you and others of your generation never have to. But the peace we managed is tenuous, and even small acts done in haste or without thinking have the potential to undo so many of our successes."

Ugh. No! No more politics!

While you quietly fume at the injustice that there are so many problems that have the indecency of not being able to be blasted away, Samantha props one hand on her hip. "Wait a minute. What did you mean, the PRT can't work effectively if it's to fulfill its purpose? That's complete nonsense. The PRT's job is to capture criminals. How is inefficiency supposed to make it better?"

"Oh. I wish it were so simple." With a sigh, Alexandria finally turns to face you and your Guardian Beast. "The PRT's purpose is not so clear-cut. On a national level, it is not to capture criminals. It is to protect the United States from parahuman and parahuman-related activities. A small distinction, but an important one. You are too young to remember Gavel, I expect. He was an Australian vigilante who would track down the civilian identities of villains, expose them, and then would target them and their families, often killing everyone involved. One villain whom he targeted retaliated by bombing a shopping mall where they knew he would be. He and other capes employing similar tactics were part of the impetus that introduced the 'cape customs', the 'Unwritten Rules' we try to abide by. It prevents the kind of escalation that sees innocent people killed in the crossfire of our fights.

"The original plan was to cement these customs in place and then tighten the screws on larger villain organizations slowly and carefully enough that there were no large-scale revolts, leading eventually to a world where the vast majority of active villains would be individuals or small groups without any real support, groups whose scales were small enough that they posed minimal risk," she says in a wistful voice. "Then Behemoth entered the picture, followed soon by Leviathan and the Simurgh. Now the Protectorate had to deal with monstrosities that can't be killed and would potentially slaughter thousands of people every time they appeared. We weren't and still aren't strong enough to handle them on our own. We needed villains to join the fights, and by sheer necessity that led to rules and protocols that get the worst of the worst off the streets but leave enough villains free that they would not fear volunteering for these fights."

"And once Scion vanished…" you murmur.

She nods. "Yes, that threw another wrench into the works, though none of us ever expected a single parahuman to be the silver bullet. What we have now is a terrible and messy compromise, and yet it is the only solution we have happened upon that has the potential to _work_."

"I must have missed Coil and his mercenaries volunteering at the Simurgh fight," says Samantha in a bone-dry voice.

Alexandria scoffs. "Did I say I disagreed with your motives for attacking Calvert? Or with the results? Ripping him out of the PRT was a necessity, and for doing so you have my gratitude. That does not mean that you can keep blasting every obstacle that you find in your path without forethought. You of all people need to learn to consider all the potential consequences of your actions."

"What do you mean, me of all people?" you demand with a scowl.

"We are still in the first generation of capes, but that won't always be the case. You won't have people cleaning up your mistakes for you." You take a step back at the vehemence in her words. "I'm invulnerable, not immortal. Neither is Legend, and he also has a family he will need to spend more and more time with in the future. Eidolon is already retired except for emergencies. You and the other powerful heroes in your generation need to learn responsibility, because sooner than you expect it is going to find you whether you're ready for it or not."

Fear and uncertainly clog your throat, and you struggle to swallow them down. Never, not in a million years, would you have thought you'd hear Alexandria of all people discussing her mortality. It is a sobering thought, that one day the Triumvirate would be gone, and the idea of a world without their great and terrible strength is a terrifying one.

The not-so-subtle suggestion that you are a candidate for some kind of Triumvirate 2.0 you aren't going to touch with a ten-foot pole.

"If this is your idea of a recruitment pitch, it… needs work," you finally manage to get out.

"Inspiring speeches are Legend's department, and for good reason. I prefer cold, hard facts." She lifts off the ground and floats a few feet above the rooftop. "You think being an independent cape is a hindrance to having your opinions heard? That no one would pay attention to your ideas for how to make things better? There's an easy solution to that problem."

Alexandria takes off at records speeds, her pronouncement echoing heavily in her wake.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

 **Sunday, June 26**

Walking through Dragon's Vancouver manufacturing plant, you eventually track down Tim and Dragon sitting at a table. The necklace form of Tim's Device is hooked up to the table, and screens that should be sliding over the computer screen that makes up the tabletop instead are floating above the surface where both Tinkers can easily manipulate them. "Not even a day off after going into battle?" Samantha calls out.

"No rest for the wicked, I'm afraid," Dragon replies with an absentminded wave. "As the first Device we are actually programming, we want to go through it with a fine-toothed comb. It's a brand-new programming language to me, and that makes it easier for little problems to slip through the cracks."

You glance over at the large semicircle of brass or gold that is also on the table. "Is that the Device you said you'd build for Maclibuin?"

Tim glances over and pats it as though he were a proud parent. "Yes it is. I finished it only yesterday. I just wanted Dragon to check on things before we consider giving it to him."

The Adepts – what remains of them anyway – will be thrilled when he finally gets this and becomes a proper mage. Not to mention, it will finally answer the question of whether Devices truly short out a cape's powers. Thinking about Devices and capes reminds of you Cassiel, actually, and the whispered offer that had passed between you. "Hey, Tim? A question for you. Hypothetically, would it be possible to build a Unison Device kind of like the one you built for Dragon, except instead of converting an A.I. it slurped up the mind of a person telepathically?"

For all that you phrased that question as delicately and in as light a tone as possible, both of them turn to stare at you.

"It… might be possible?" is Dragon's ultimate response. "That situation doesn't sound hypothetical in the slightest, but I have a hard time thinking of a reason why you would want to turn a person – fine, an _organic_ person," she corrects herself with a smile in the face of Tim's disapproving stare, "into a program in a machine."

That is about the best opening you could have. Quickly you launch into a summary of your few interactions with the imprisoned little girl. When you are done, the Tinkers glance back at each other with greenish faces.

"I don't know that I'm entirely comfortable with this idea," Tim says with a shake of his head.

"I'm not either, but something about this 'Grandmama's powers sounds familiar." Conjuring a tiny screen next to her, Dragon scrolls through what must be hundreds of boxes of text before she finally stops on one in particular. "Oh. That's why they are familiar."

An image appears in midair, a candid shot from a distance featuring a large group of people dressed in a variety of costumes all in the color white, and the photo darkens except for one person in particular. "The powers Cassiel mentioned? They sound like those possessed by Balam. She's part of the Fallen, believed to be a high-ranking member or perhaps the leader of the family dedicated to worshiping the Simurgh. A powerful Stranger/Trump, from what little we know about her she can at least plant a backdoor of sorts into the minds of anyone who directly observes her with either natural or parahuman senses, and using that backdoor she can spy on her victims and what is around them at any time. Several attacks on the Fallen were planned years ago, but the information used to organize them was all derived through clairvoyance, and the Fallen were able to turn the attacks into ambushes. If Cassiel really is a second or third-generation cape with powers related to Balam's, it is no wonder she would be able to reach out to you even from a thousand miles away."

"And she wants you to turn her into a Unison Device?" asks Tim.

"She's a scared little girl who's been abused for who knows how long. This is the first hope for escape from that place that she's ever had."

"I would not want to leave any child in the clutches of the Fallen," Dragon says, "and I can't help but think about the terrifying synergy her powers could have with Balam's. Just imagine her pulling Chief Director Costa-Brown or Legend or Narwhal into their compound and Balam using her power on them to turn them into her spies. That would be a disaster. That being said, converting her still sounds… extreme."

"So what should we do instead? Could we assemble enough capes to storm the Fallen's base and save her?" That is not something you would be against necessarily, but you remember the fear on Cassiel's face when you suggested it to her.

The frown on Dragon's face at your question does not fill you with confidence. "That would be difficult at best. We don't know where the Fallen have their current base. That was the point of the previous attempts at surveillance."

"So either we open ourselves to becoming the eyes and ears of this Balam character, or we leave this girl in their hands until she breaks and becomes a powerful villain who screws us all over, or we bite the bullet and turn her into a fairy." Tim shakes his head and pulls up a selection of blueprints from Sextant's memory banks. "Guess we better get building."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	132. Cloudy Skies 11-2

**Cloudy Skies 11.2**

 **Monday, June 27**

You pull up a chronometer screen and nod. "That should be long enough for Standstill to get to the Adepts' place."

"I still don't understand why you or Samantha couldn't just teleport to her and take her to their hideout," Tim says with a huff as he picks up the standby form of his latest creation. "It would make things a lot easier."

"Maybe in the short term, but you didn't just have a weird conversation with Alexandria the way we did. I don't want to run into Legend and have to worry about being almost-threatened into joining the Protectorate because I'm powerful enough to be part of the next generation's Triumvirate. One of those talks is enough for a lifetime."

He shrugs but walks closer to you, and with a single command your casting sigil appears beneath you and erases the world to replace it with the drab walls of… an apartment? This is not where you met the three untrained mages last time! "Storm, did you take us to the wrong place?"

"Whoops. That's my fault. Maclibuin gave me a new address, and I had Sextant forward it to Storm." Tim clears his throat. "I, uh, thought he would tell you."

The jewel on your staff chirps in apology. _"Did not consider matter significant to bother Mistress. Will do in future."_

"It's fine, it's fine. Just took me by surprise. Anybody home?!" you call out.

Something thumps from down the hall, and in maybe ten seconds Epoch pokes his head out from around the corner. "Calamity Witch, and compatriots. You caught us by surprise, I'm afraid. Please, join us."

In the main living room you find Maclibuin and Standstill still sitting at a fold-up table with cartons of Chinese take-out in front of them. "What happened to your old base?" you ask, images of them being driven out of their headquarters dancing through your head.

"We decided it was too much space to defend with just the two of us. This is a safe house only a few of the Adepts ever knew about. We needed some place that Gevaudan and Lilliput wouldn't know about."

And the best safe house they could find is an apartment? You have your doubts about that but keep them to yourself. If this really is one of their homes, you don't want to mention it and unnerve them unnecessarily. "Well, we're back and with presents to boot. It might be easier if we split up, though. I can give you pointers on your spells, Epoch, and Samantha and Standstill can discuss some of the practicalities of creating a Guardian Beast. Meanwhile Shipwright can work with Maclibuin on the details of his Device—"

"I can't really do much on that score," Tim says, cutting you off. "I know enough about it to build the Device itself and can tell you the basics, but how to best use your spells? I wouldn't know where to begin. I'm just glad Storm had enough information to help with the programming."

Perfect Storm shouldn't have _any_ information on support spells, but Immortal Assimilation Engine? That is a different kettle of fish entirely, and not one that will make you sleep easier at night.

"So what do I need to do?" asks Maclibuin.

"Not much at all. Just put it on and follow the directions."

Tim hands over a thin copper bracelet, the ends of the torc decorated with yellow spheres. Maclibuin shrugs and slips it on. "So what—"

 _"New user identified."_ Everyone startles at the deep voice that comes from the bracelet, the decorations on the ends flashing citrine light with each syllable. _"Request Device designation change."_

"It wants a name," Tim whispers, trying his best not to be overheard. Personally, you don't think the Device would care what Tim says since it – he? – is being worn by Maclibuin, but what he does is his business.

The gigantic mage scratches his chin. "A name. Hmm… There is only one appropriate name I can think of. Hiallus, who assisted Loan Maclibuin with the forging of his swords. That is your new name."

 _"Designation 'Hiallus' accepted. Ready to initialize."_

"Proceed, I guess."

" _Command acknowledged. Configuring Barrier Jacket. Optimizing protocols. Set up."_

Maclibuin's body shines with brilliant light, enough that it eclipses his outline and turns him into an emerald sun. Several moments pass before the light finally fades and Maclibuin falls to his knees. His muscle shirt and jeans are gone, replaced by soft grey cargo pants tucked into boots and… well, it looks like another sleeveless shirt since his arms are still visible through the long coat he wears, revealing what is now a golden torc wrapped around his left bicep. The hood of that coat is pulled down, revealing the slim domino mask that along with the shadows of the hood will completely hide his identity.

"Mac!" Epoch and Standstill yell.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. That just felt weird." He grabs onto a nearby chair and pulls himself up to his feet. "I still feel a little strange, but I'm not hurt or anything." A small frown crosses his face, and then he grabs both sides of the folding chair and pulls as hard as he can. The chair stays intact when he gives up, which must not have happened for years considering how long he had his superstrength. This time he smiles. "Maybe more than a little strange, but definitely not in a bad way."

 _«I guess this is the best proof we can get that Devices really will strip capes of their original powers,»_ Samantha whispers to you telepathically. "Come over here, Standstill. We can have a nice long chat about turning animals into people and the responsibilities that come with it."

"Don't scare her too bad! And we can talk about Shooters and flying and telekinesis."

Epoch nods with a smile of delight and turns his chair around to face you while you sit on empty air. "I don't suppose I would be able to do that myself, would I?"

 _"Flight forces localized to center of mass. Small adjustments necessary to reorient position. Emulating Mistress relatively simple."_

"Let's not jump ahead of ourselves," you warn Perfect Storm. "Since you don't have a Device to help with the calculations, we did our best to simplify the math. A Shooter spell is the easiest of the three, so we'll start with that then work on telekinesis and flight last."

A flick of your hand pulls up the screen with a _much_ smaller formula than you are used to, but then again the spell you plan to 'teach', or rather refine, is also a different beast than Flare Shooter. Your personal spell has a large section of code that is explicitly for controlling and manipulating the unusual effects of the Mana Conversion Affinity Perfect Storm installed into your Linker Core along with the template itself, so that had to go along with the additions that turn your projectiles into homing missiles. At that point it became easier to further prune the code into its most basic form than to rework the other adjustable parameters, creating what is by far the smallest spell formula you have ever seen.

"We wanted this spell to be something you can whip out quickly in case you were surprised, which is part of the reason it's small. All this spell does is create the bullet itself and then fire it in a straight line."

"Um, Calamity Witch? Not that I am unappreciative, but what exactly am I supposed to do with this? It looks more like something a mathematician would come up, not a witch."

You look at the formula again and then back to him. What is he talking about? This is the simplest you could break it down! It's so basic you almost don't even need to do any vector calculus to run the transformation and oh yeah on second thought he might just have a point. _«Storm? Is there any way you can simplify this so someone who hasn't had to learn post-college level math and doesn't have a Device can actually figure out what they're doing?»_

 _«Can be done. High-level mathematics developed by Al Hazard to simplify magic experimentation. Pre-Device magics visualization and mnemonics. Mistress desires static graphic or simulation?»_

Simulation? That sounds like it would probably be better, and at your command the screen clears itself of text to show a human silhouette, the shimmering dot in the middle of its chest obviously representing the Linker Core. Sounds of breathing play softly in the background as the dot expands and contracts slightly. A closer look at the dot shows that small flakes of light are drifting around and through it, and it is these that move with each breath.

"Oh, yes. This works much better."

" _Mana generated or gathered by Linker Core,"_ Perfect Storm says before changing the view to the outline standing with one arm outstretched. Red lightning streaks from the Linker Core down the arm to the palm of the hand. That part of the screen expands to shows the flakes of light swirling in tight spirals in every direction. As you and Epoch watch, all that magic falls towards the center and becomes a complete sphere. _"Mana gathered and compressed. Flight vector calculated or imagined."_

A ring appears around the sphere, and the edges curl inwards and stretch away from the hand. The second screen vanishes to show the silhouette again, and the image moves out so you can see a pair of lines leading from that silhouette to a second one. The sphere flies away from the first person's palm and hits the second person in the chest.

" _Fire."_

Comprehension lights Epoch's face. "So that's why I had so much trouble when I tried to do it! I couldn't get the ball to hold together because I was just trying to squeeze it into shape when what I really needed was to spin it and let centripetal force do the work for me. Even when I could get it to form I can't throw it. I have to lead it to the target." While he talks, he flexes his fingers, and within only a couple of seconds a blue orb surrounded by a faint haze begins growing just above his upturned palm.

That was faster than you thought he would get it, and the fact that he was already close is somewhat unnerving. Your feelings are unchanged when you hear Perfect Storm chime in, _"In essence correct. Density of mana particles determines physical impact of spell. Range in strength from light source to explosion. Current formula limited to straight line."_ Equations dance along the edges of the screen as the path leading from the shooter to the target shifts around, the code becoming longer and more complicated and in turn twisting the path into a pretzel.

"…I think I can live with a straight line for now."

With the simulation method of teaching now proven to work – maybe even a little too well – showing Epoch how to move objects with his mind and to refine his flight takes less time than you had previously expected. Perfect Storm also fills in Samantha about this discovery, and a quick glance shows that she has pulled up a screen of her own to go over the last few details about the Guardian Beast ritual.

It is the screen in front of Maclibuin that grabs your attention now, because it does not have diagrams on it. It has actual formulas.

"Interesting," he tells Tim, scrolling through the calculations before flicking it away. "And all spells can be broken down like this?" Tim nods, which leads him to ask the million-dollar question. "Could it figure out what happens when I use my ritual?"

Tim opens and closes his mouth a few times, but no words come out. He looks to you only for you to hold out your hands cluelessly. How are you supposed to know? "I don't really know. I guess we could find out?"

"Standstill, do you still have your charms on you?" The woman pulls up the end of her sleeve to reveal a charm bracelet with five individual charms hanging from it and drops the bracelet over into Maclibuin's outstretched palm. A faint green nimbus surrounds him for a moment before it suddenly flares and a circular casting sigil appears beneath his feet.

 _«It shouldn't have adapted this soon,»_ Tim projects to you. _«Even if his ritual was close enough to a Device spell for it to learn, I would have expected a few castings. This is way too fast. There's something else going on here.»_

"Whoa," he says when the spell effect ends. "That was a rush. Hiallus, did you get all that?"

" _Yes, sir. Analyzing now."_ A screen pops up with a rat's nest of code, and all of you watch the formula untangle itself. Two more screens showing other programs appear on either side. _"Cross-referencing. Similarities found. Identifying variables."_

Wait, what?

Sections of the code flash red and green, and the middle screen splits into two, the one on Maclibuin's left holding only the colored sections and the one on the right everything else. The screens that you can only assume are for his other spells merge with the color-coded one.

" _Underlying spell isolated."_

"There's… a spell specifically to enhance parahumans," mutters the hulking ex-cape in disbelief.

"I don't think there _was_ such a spell before now." Maclibuin looks over at Tim. "I certainly don't know one, and I didn't program it into your Device. This was all you. It just so happens that the way you figured out to empower objects can also be used directly on people. At least, that's what I'm guessing based on everything we just saw."

"Or there's a simpler explanation than even that." You shrug. "Spells aren't secret knowledge that can only be known or performed if they are taught. They're more like physics with magic. You didn't get lucky and your spell hit that one-in-a-million chance of being like our own. Your spell and our spells are similar because that's just how magic itself works."

"I don't know whether to be happy or not about that," muses Epoch.

His teammate, on the other hand, rubs his chin in thought. "Question. If my ritual works like these spells enough that you can pull out a formal spell to do the same thing, does that mean we can do the same thing in reverse? Adapt any of these spells into an enchantment?"

" _Running simulation."_ The leftover formula twists itself this way and that, and no more than ten seconds pass before it expands in such a way that there are multiple blanks in the code. _"Enchantment template complete. Adaptable to any enhancement spell."_

 _«What spells did you give him again?»_ you whisper to Tim.

 _«Healing and a strength boost. Which means he can now create items that turn anyone into a Brute, at least for a couple of seconds.»_

 _«Is this something we need to warn the Protectorate about?»_ Samantha interjects.

Looking at the trio of former teammates, you can't help but want to give them the benefit of the doubt. Partly because you put a lot of work into them, but also partly because going around expecting everyone to act in the worst possible manner is a terrible way to go through life. _«Let's not borrow trouble. Standstill and Maclibuin are both heroes, so they won't go off the deep end. Most likely. Hopefully._

 _«And if they do, we_ _ **probably**_ _shouldn't make it look like we knew it was a possibility ahead of time and still gave them that power.»_

* * *

 **All of Maclibuin's spells are Boost spells of one form or another. Add in a portable supercomputer, and it only made sense that Hiallus would figure out how to adapt the ritual into something(s) amazing.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	133. Cloudy Skies 11-3

**Cloudy Skies 11.3**

 **Wednesday, June 29**

« _Mistress, Protectorate communications indicate Chevalier departing. Plot intercept course?_ »

"Thank you, Storm. Go ahead."

After the ultimatum Vista gave Chevalier before they joined you in Chicago and your own less than successful attempts at convincing him that you weren't going to go out of your way to try luring Vista away from the Wards, you decided it was best to take a couple of days to let everything else settle before you broached this issue again. You could have organized a meeting in his office, but while you aren't trying to set yourself against the Protectorate you also don't make it seem like you are going to him with hat in hand because you are afraid of getting on their bad side. The streets of Philadelphia are the most neutral grounds you can get, and the best way to hash this out is for you two to run into each other 'coincidentally' while he is out on patrol.

"Samantha, you remember your role, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," she mutters, scrolling through some webpage or another on a holographic screen. "Stay small, stay out of sight. Don't give him any reason to think this isn't a one-on-one conversation."

"You could just stay here, you know. You were the one who insisted on coming along," you remind her.

"And let you have all the fun if things get exciting? I don't think so."

The screen collapses, a raccoon jumps onto your shoulder, and you teleport to the coordinates Perfect Storm provides.

You land a couple of blocks away from the route plotted on your map, the mere existence of which makes you wonder just how much Perfect Storm learned from listening in to the Protectorate's communications. Shuffling Samantha off your shoulder, you take to the air and start drifting in that direction, doing your best to look like you are doing nothing more suspicious than watching out for crime below. The dot that represents Chevalier starts sliding closer and closer along that line, and you dismiss the screen a couple of seconds before the head of Philly's heroes comes into sight. The small number of Flare Shooters you previous conjured up for show vanish, and you descend to street level. He sees you and slows his motorcycle down to give you a slight wave. "Evening, Chevalier. You out on patrol too?"

"Looks like it." Okay, maybe that _was_ a bit of a dumb question, but it isn't like you are familiar with subtly insinuating yourself into other people's schedules. Most of the time they drag you in without so much as a by your leave.

He doesn't say anything in response, so with a mental sigh at having to be the social one, you ask, "Since we're both out here already, mind if tag along? I don't exactly have a set patrol route or anything, so…"

"Why not? Company is rarely unwelcome."

Not the most enthusiastic welcome you could have gotten, but likely he has yet to forget about the mess your last joint venture turned into. Alexandria hinted on the rooftop that she wanted to have a chat with him about that, too, didn't she? Maybe he's still hurting about that. Or maybe you're reading too much into it. No way to tell.

He takes off down the street again, and you twist in the air so you are flying parallel with the road and only a few feet away from him. "How have things with the gang intrusions been since we got back? I haven't heard as much about them as I did before we dealt with Coil, but I don't know if that's because they actually dropped off or because the news got bored with that story and moved on to something else."

"The true answer is a little of both, though how much of each is up for debate. When he was being interrogated, Calvert admitted that he had instigated many of the initial attacks in an attempt to destabilize the PRT's hold on Philadelphia. He was tired of working as a mere consultant and thought that if he was put in charge of a branch officially, he would have a better chance of getting rid of any gang that opposed his own, putting him in control of both the legal and illegal aspects of the city. Once he made enough trouble in his villain persona, he would have the grounds to declare martial law and essentially rule the city as a warlord. With him arrested, the gangs he was personally in control of have left, but there are still several others who want to take a slice of the city for their own purposes." He sighs. "I'm happy we managed to get Cadejo and the rest of the MS-13 off the streets, but I'm tired of putting away one villain only for two more to spring up in their place."

"Like the hydra of old," you mutter.

He gives you a faint nod and taps the side of his helmet. "Mugging reported on Sixth Street. No cape presence. Let's make an appearance."

He pulls to the side and rolls down a side street for a couple of blocks before gunning the engine and screaming down the road. About five blocks later he screeches to a stop, and it is this rather than the initial acceleration that gets the three muggers' attention. They take a look at Chevalier in his bronze and gold armor and giant cannonblade and immediately start running the opposite direction.

"And they're running. Why do they always run?" he asks himself with a sigh.

"Do you want me to…?" You trail off, the orange balls of light hovering above your open hand finishing the rest of the question for you. He gives you a single nod, and you flick your wrist to send the bullets hurtling after the muggers. Each one lands squarely in the middle of their backs and explodes to throw them to the ground. You didn't make the bullets strong enough to injure them, so the men try to scramble back to their feet while you process the code for another spell.

Three distinct shouts of surprise accompany rings of light flashing into existence around their wrists and ankles.

"That should keep them in place for half an hour at least," you say, twirling your staff nonchalantly. Perfect Storm had assured you that the Ring Binds you've been working on would last probably twice that, but it is better to undersell it. "They can't break out, but just tell the cops that a good solid hit from outside the rings will be enough to get rid of them."

"I'll forward that along. Interesting trick to pick up," Chevalier replies, his tone questioning.

"It's just another energy construct. Nothing to get that excited about."

You don't know just how much he believes your excuse, but he does not call you out on it. As he calls the police to pick up the perpetrators, you look around and spot a blue figure peeking over the edge of the rooftop before vanishing once again. Was that…?

« _Sam, do me a favor. Take a look at the rooftops near me. I think I saw someone._ »

« _Yeah, I see her now,_ » Samantha replies after a dozen or so seconds. « _Want me to grab her?_ »

You mull the option around for a moment before shaking your head, which attracts Chevalier's attention temporarily before he goes back to talking to the police. « _No, leave her alone. These guys don't look like Winter Hill, and if they were, I would expect Cailleach to try to get them out, not just leave them for us to deal with. If she isn't doing anything illegal right now, no reason to start a fight._ »

That does leave the question of just what Cailleach is doing around here. Villains normally don't do patrols as far as you know. Still, you are not here to pick fights, just put them down when they start.

With the cops on their way, Chevalier mounts his bike again, and you drift along behind him as he rolls away at a much more sedate pace than previously. "So is this what most of your patrols are like? Ride around and wait until you either spot crime yourself or someone calls it in?"

He turns to glance at you from the corner of his eye. "More or less. How do you normally patrol?"

"Honestly? I stick around the house until I hear something, then teleport to wherever the trouble is."

"Now that is a power set I would love to have," he admits with a smile. "Particularly when the winter is in full force and the weather is terrible. Teleport to the scene of the crime, handle it, teleport back to base for a hot cup of coffee."

"Yeah, but I have to pay for it by running around in the snow in a miniskirt." That earns a short laugh from him, and another block passes below you before you continue your previous thought. "I have to say, this doesn't seem… all that dangerous."

"It isn't. Until it is. There is no predicting when what should be a fairly routine patrol will turn into a gang fight. I've found myself in that situation more times than I can count. Even when capes aren't involved, all it takes is one guy with a gun feeling cornered and desperate to cause a tragedy. It's the very reason that when Wards are sent out on patrol, they are meant to serve as reconnaissance and spotters rather than active combatants."

"You know," you can't help but comment, "that sounds more like a good reason to give the Wards actual _armor_ than to tell them it's too dangerous for them to go out without someone holding their hands."

He shakes his head with a sigh that might or might not be a laugh. Considering how your conversations with him about this topic have gone beforehand, more likely it is the latter. "Not as much as you would think. Armor, any visible form of protection really, is often seen as a sign that the person wearing it can tolerate heavier hits than they would otherwise be subjected to. People don't hold back as much when they know there is something that should keep the other person somewhat safer, but when you throw powers into the mix, 'not as much' can all too easily become more than armor can withstand. Prohibiting armor except for Brutes is actually better from a safety standpoint. Even villains tend not to attack children excessively; it's similar to the way that child killers or molesters are in so much danger in prison from their fellow inmates if the nature of their crimes becomes known. Except, of course, for the villains like Cadejo who don't care about how old their victims are.

"It's a catch-22. We can't give the Wards armor without putting them in more danger, but withholding it also puts them at significantly more risk from a minority of the villains. There is no good option other than keeping them out of fights as much as possible."

"And yet, despite not being a Brute yourself you still wear it," you point out. "As did Armsmaster and Kid Win." Not to mention the suits of armor Tim built for the Privateers, which certainly kept them safe while they were wearing it.

"Tinkers wear power armor because all the other features they cram into it gives them an advantage beyond just the physical protection. Their armor also requires a great deal of maintenance. A couple of Tinkers here and there have offered to build and maintain armor for an entire team, but what inevitably happens is that they get so busy with keeping the armors running that they can't go out into the field. Most of them say that would be their dream job, but what has been found is that when Tinkers are stuck doing maintenance or even just building new things without the opportunity to test their creations out, they start going stir crazy."

What? That does not make any sense. Tim not only has never expressed a desire to go out to take his creations out for a spin, he has outright said he would _prefer_ other people use his stuff and leave him out any fights. Is there really this big of a difference between parahuman Tinkers and Tim?

Or, you can't help but wonder, is it because of the template he has? You remember from back when you first found Perfect Storm that it admitted to making adjustments to your 'parameters' in the process of installing the Calamity Witch template into your Linker Core. Did it do the same with the Transcendent Gadgeteer template, making it possible for Tim to stay away from the battlefield?

You want to believe that is not the case, and you trust Perfect Storm not to do too much to people's minds, but it wasn't Perfect Storm that produced Sextant and the template Tim is using. It was Immortal Assimilation Engine, and _that_ Device you trust far less.

Chevalier is still talking as though he has no clue about the thoughts running through your head. "As for me, it's for two reasons." He breaks off the explanation for a few seconds to take a turn that was not polite enough to come earlier while you were struggling with your own thoughts. "First, with my power I can give enhance my armor beyond what it should be capable of considering its size. Second, I _want_ villains targeting me. I can withstand the hits better than anyone but a true Brute, and it keeps attention off anyone who is with me."

That sounds reasonable, actually, except for the part where Vista could probably play keep-away with criminals better than anyone but a teleporter. The armor would be just for those rare times when she isn't _quite_ fast enough.

 _Now_ Chevalier seems to know where your mind is going because he continues, "Even if I wanted to put Vista in armor and send her out into fights, I couldn't. I don't know how the administration in Brockton Bay avoided investigation by the Youth Guard, but obviously they did somehow. If the Youth Guard had taken a look at them, everyone in a supervisory position almost certainly would have been drummed out."

"This isn't the first time you mentioned the Youth Guard," you say, thinking back to the rooftop conversation you had in Chicago, "but no one has ever said just who they are or why you treat them as bogeymen."

"It's an investigative oversight organization that monitors the Protectorate. Originally it was a loose coalition of parents of Wards and some attorneys that had concerns about how the Protectorate was treating the Wards, but they grew larger as more cases of abuse or reckless behavior came to light, one even involving Alexandria's treatment of a Ward in Los Angeles. Eventually they filed and won a class action lawsuit against the Protectorate as a whole, and Congress passed a law making them an official organization and giving them authority over the Protectorate in all matters pertaining to minors, as well as putting in place tighter restrictions on what the Wards are allowed to do. The rules are particularly strict for Wards under the age of fifteen and are aimed at keeping minors from being forced into situations where their lives and safety are in danger as much as possible.

"That is what Vista and you don't seem to understand. Regardless of what my opinion of the law is, I can't intentionally send Vista out into combat and in fact have to do my best to keep her away from it until she turns fifteen. My hands are tied."

His hands may be tied, but he doesn't sound torn up about it. If he weren't under the thumb of this Youth Guard, he still would not deploy her. He sees her as a child first and foremost, not as a fellow cape who has been around the block more than once.

What would he say if he knew you had only just turned sixteen yourself?

The thought had been a facetious one, but now that it is fully formed you can't help but roll it around in your head. You know that Miss Militia assumed you were in college, but breaking the truth to Chevalier would further explain why Vista shared her frustrations with you and why you can empathize with her so easily on this matter. Here they are, treating you with the respect your power and actions have earned you, when in reality you are at Vista's level and actually her junior in terms of sheer experience. The downside, of course, is that if you do tell him, he could start treating you like a child instead of the equal he sees you as right now. The misconception that you are an adult has worked to your advantage thus far. Would giving that up advance Vista's cause enough to make it worth the sacrifice?

"I also can't help but worry how much danger you and she would both be in should she follow through on her threats and quit to join your group."

His almost nonchalant comment shocks you out of your internal debate. "What?"

"It is the nature of humanity that strength invites challenge. That is doubly true for capes. When a new powerful cape or group shows up, eventually more and more people will come to pit their own powers against this newcomer's." He slows to a stop and faces you fully. "You saw that firsthand not too long ago. Coil saw you as a threat and moved to eliminate you. The Protectorate is no exception to that, but we have enough support among the other branches and from the PRT that we can weather those attacks. You, Samantha, and Shipwright are a powerful force, and you would be even stronger with Vista. Strong enough that you might appear a larger threat and a more tempting target than the Protectorate. For all your strength, though, you do not have the resources and backup we do to deal with a drawn-out series of attacks.

"It might not just be villains, either," Chevalier says after a moment's hesitation. "As much as I would like to say that all PRT directors are like Paulson or Carpenter, there are some who see independent parahumans as threats, even those who are heroes. Should your actions be seen as an attempt to develop enough force to be able to overthrow or supplant the Protectorate, regardless of the truth, they could try to make your life difficult. Philadelphia is welcoming to any hero no matter their affiliation, but Director Paulson still has to follow orders given to him by the Chief Director, and she cannot just write off the opinions of the regional directors. I do not want to see the paranoia of a few individuals in power ruin the lives of fellow heroes."

"So you're saying I should do, what? Join the Protectorate?" It was the same thing Alexandria had pushed, but for all that her own recruitment pitch had been blunt, you preferred it to this cautionary almost-threat. At least she was upfront about her desires and left you to make your own decision. "Sign up and be trapped by the same red tape you're wrapping Vista up in? I don't think so. I fought hard for my freedom, thank you very much."

"Those restrictions only apply to the Wards. There is much more latitude in the Protectorate proper," he insists.

In for a penny, in for a pound, you suppose. He would figure it out on his own after that slip of the tongue. "And minors are barred from the Protectorate. How old do you think I am?" He shakes his head wordlessly. "I'm still in high school. I turned sixteen earlier this summer. You said the regulations on Wards were _lighter_ after fifteen, not gone. I'm not going to let myself be tied down by foolish if well intentioned restrictions for two years when I can be flying free and actually solving problems instead."

« _Mistress,_ » Perfect Storm interrupts, cutting off the rest of the tirade you had not known you had lurking deep inside you. « _Alert to law enforcement. Property alarms from store in near vicinity. Officers mobilizing, but arrival not expected for several minutes. Mistress desires coordinates?_ »

You want to snap at the Device, but the urge passes as swiftly as it came. You know why it is butting in; it is stopping you from saying something out of anger that you would not be able to take back. « _That would be lovely, Storm, thank you._ » You look back up at Chevalier. "Storm heard about a break in not far from here. Do you want a lift or to drive there yourself?"

He watches you for another second before pushing his bike to the side and hitting a couple of buttons. Struts unfold from the spokes of the wheels and lock into the road. Bike now safe from thefts, he takes your outstretched hand and lets himself be sucked up by the orange light of your teleportation.

You rematerialize on top of a nearby rooftop and look across the street at the cluster of teens doing their best to rip out the tempered glass over the front of the auto parts store they are trying to rob. "Want me just to blast them?" you ask.

"Let's give them a chance to surrender." Pulling the cannonblade from his back, Chevalier points it at the ground. What was a four-foot sword is now closer to twenty in length, and it stabs into the ground with an echoing _crunch_. That grabs the thugs' attention. He keeps a tight grip on the hilt and puts one foot on the side of the blade. The sword shrinks slower than it grew, allowing him in essence to ride it down to the ground. "This is the Protectorate. Get down on the ground and put your hands on your heads, and none of you have to get hurt."

Half the group does the stupid thing of running to the sides, as though they think splitting up will make a Chevalier focus on one of them and allow the rest to get away. Flare Shooters show them the error of their ways. The other half are frozen like deer mesmerized by an oncoming train about to crush them into paste.

"I said," Chevalier says again, "on the ground."

One by one the hoodlums kneel until there is only one still standing. He doesn't look like he's getting ready to fight, however. He backs up into the building shaking his head, and though you cannot hear what he is saying you would guess that it is something along the lines of 'no, no, no'.

"Don't make this any worse than it already is, son," Chevalier tells him, his voice no longer stony but still stern. "You'll have a chance to explain things to the police and whoever is appointed to represent you—"

The rest of his statement is lost when he drops like a sack of bricks.

The kid is completely different now, chocolate skin replaced by swirls of blues and yellows and deep pitch black. He looks like someone took a photograph of a nebula out in space and cut it into a human hape.

A brace of Shooters form almost without conscious thought and streak towards him. He loses cohesion as they fly, and the colors that are left are absorbed into the road. He is only gone for a split second before that kaleidoscopic blur seeps back out of the asphalt and gathers together again. He lifts his hands up and examines them as though he has never seen such things before.

You interrupt his marveling with a swarm of bullets, but he steps backwards and slips into the wall of the building. He comes out at the top of the wall, reaching up to grab the edge of the roof and pulling himself out of the brickwork.

You take flight with a silent snarl. Chevalier seems to be coming back around, whatever this new cape did wearing off, but you aren't going to give him a chance to do it again. More fireballs fly his way, but he is faster at breaking apart than your bullets can fly. The only good thing is that now that he is on the roof, he seems to be stuck there since he isn't fleeing to another building.

Or perhaps he is just taunting you.

If you can't shoot the bastard, you decide, you'll just have to do something else. The fireballs you have already formed vanish, and you wait for him to come back out into the normal world before you spin a different bit of code through Perfect Storm. Lifting this guy with telekinesis is harder than the other objects you have used it on, though whether it is because he is heavier, alive, or in this weird state of his you couldn't even begin to guess. What matters is that he comes off the rooftop, and now that you have a firm mental grip on him he is not breaking apart and teleporting around anymore.

"You need to be touching something to scoot around, don't you?" you ask as you fly closer. He doesn't answer you and instead tries to struggle his way out of your spell. Rings of orange light appear around his wrists and ankles, and you let your telekinesis end. He hangs suspended in the air, and you roll your head around to loosen it up. There has to be an easier way of holding someone in place like that. "Let's see you teleport out of that. You okay, Chevalier?!"

"Just fine," he calls back. "Nothing injured but my pride. Did you subdue the cape?"

"He's trussed up like a Christmas turkey. Same bindings I used on the other guys we ran into. Be careful with him. It looks like he needs to touch something to teleport, but I don't know what other quirks his powers have."

A silence follows your statement, presumably Chevalier thinking about just how he's supposed to take this guy to prison without letting him touch something and escape. "Thank you for the warning. I'll call for transport as soon as I'm finished restraining the ones over here.

"And Calamity Witch? Thank you for the help."

* * *

 **Ah, character drama, how I've missed thee. In case you're wondering, I see Chevalier as a Lawful Good character whereas Taylor is very much Chaotic Good. They're on the same side, but that doesn't mean they're going to see eye-to-eye on everything.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	134. Cloudy Skies 11-4

**starjaunter:** Yes, somebody Triggered. The reasons for that… Eh, I'm sure I'll get to them sometime this arc, at least obliquely. Taylor didn't twitch because hey, not a parahuman. :)

 **Jack Inqu:** The Youth Guard actually can't do anything to Taylor because they have authority specifically over the Protectorate and the PRT. Taylor is an independent, so they can't actually do anything. As for reporting her real age, yeah, I expect that's going to get interesting sooner rather than later.

 **cko2:** The way the game works is that after nearly every chapter I give a few options for the players to vote on to decide what happens later, and whichever option(s) has the most votes is what happens. It's working out okay so far.

* * *

 **Cloudy Skies 11.4**

 **Thursday, June 30**

"I got your message," you say as you and Samantha walk into the section of Dragon's manufacturing base that Tim has claimed for his own. "What's the big surprise?"

"Well, I don't know how much of this is really a _surprise_ ," Tim replies as he waves you over to a nearby table. Sitting on its surface is a cube made out of black lacquer and polished brass. "Just finished it today. You wanted a way to get that girl of yours out of the Fallen's hands? Cassiel? Here you are."

Now you remember the request you made of Tim and Dragon, and you peer closer at the box. Dragon's Device was not as fine as this, though you expect that had more to do with Tim's lack of experience than the importance he put on the construction. "Are all your Unison Devices going to look like this?" you ask out of idle curiosity.

"Before they're ever activated, this is a nice, stable shape. Just so you know," he says with a meaningful look your way, "checking the old blueprints again, I couldn't find any precedent for doing what we accomplished. Transferring people's minds into Devices, I mean. I've looked at the records. The Galean army? They were all about finding new ways to fight the Belkans Storm told us about. There isn't a single mention of them ever turning people into Devices. Even that was a line they weren't going to cross.

"Dragon was one thing; she was used to downloading herself into other systems, and giving her a physical body to call her own had few risks and a world of benefits. The more I worked on this one, though?" He shook his head. "I'll make an exception for this girl because she's in such a terrible position, but don't ask me to do it for anyone else. I'm not comfortable doing this."

"Don't worry, Tim. We aren't exactly happy with it, either," Samantha said consolingly. "We just don't have any options that aren't even worse. I don't expect we'll run into these extreme of circumstances again, at least not anytime soon."

You hope that is the case. The idea that there could possibly be other people whose minds you want to slurp up into a machine is not a little disconcerting, and you aren't even the one building the machines to do just that. "I don't think you have to worry too much about that, either. If we run into a bunch of people where that's the best way to go, we'll have a bigger problem to worry about."

"You know I'm going to hold you to that, right?" he replies with a faint laugh.

A shrug, and you walk closer to get a better look at the box. There is something mesmerizingly elegant about it. You reach out to touch it…

…and the box tips over onto one of its sides before you can make contact.

You blink, then again. You have a telekinetic ability, but you were not using it just then, and neither Samantha nor Tim are capable of doing that to mess with you. "Is it… supposed to do that?"

"…No. No, it's not." Tim walks over and, in the spirit of hardcore science, pokes it with a finger. Nothing happens, and he shrugs. "I have no idea. Maybe it was a breeze?"

"From where? You only have one window, and it's closed!"

As if motivated by your comment, the box slides a solid foot down the length of the table. Then the window opens, and you have a sudden realization of what is about to happen. "Grab it!"

The box zips across the steel surface, deftly evading both Tim's and Samantha's attempts at catching it, and flies off the end of the table and out the window. You are already jumping through and transforming as you move. You can't let this be stolen, not when Cassiel is counting on you to get her out of her family's grasp!

There is no one lurking around outside the building the way you expected. Who is moving it, then, if not someone nearby? You don't think you have ever heard of a cape with telekinesis this strong. Is your mystery thief simply invisible? Samantha and Tim are coming through the window now as well, and the three of you give chase to the box for a couple hundred feet before the box stops on a dime and rockets straight upwards.

"Oh no you don't!" Samantha yells, taking off after it with you and Tim right behind her.

The air is clear underneath a layer of storm clouds. Perfect Storm helpfully highlights the Device so the thief cannot lose you in the featureless sky, but the longer the chase goes on the less necessary you think that precaution is. The box has not changed its direction since moving upwards, although it has certainly varied its speed to keep it just beyond your reach. It is almost as though whomever is manipulating it is playing a game at your expense. Reaching towards it, you try fighting the force on it with your own telekinesis, but you might as well have done nothing for all the effect your spell has.

It is when the box moves into the clouds that Samantha starts gasping. "Sam? Sam, what's wrong?"

"Can't… breathe… Gotta…" She stops flying with you and falls back towards the earth.

"SAM!"

« _I'm fine,_ » she says, and the strength in her telepathic voice is only reason you aren't diving back down to catch her. « _I lost my breath. It's too high up for me. I have to stay down here. I'll make sure no one flies up to hit you from behind. Now go after that box!_ »

You give her a single nod and push your flight spell to the limit as you break the sound barrier in your pursuit, nearly knocking Tim out of the sky when you zoom past him. Perfect Storm lets out a warning. « _Mistress, change in air density exceeds standard tolerance. Recommend cancel pursuit._ »

"I can't do that. We need that box back!"

« _Understood. Adapting Barrier Jacket._ » The tight shirt and miniskirt of your Barrier Jacket glow and stretch, and when the light fades you are wearing an old-fashioned pilot's outfit complete with scarf and cap. « _Jacket optimized for decreasing pressure, low oxygen concentration. Warning. Defensive properties compromised in order to provide life support functions. Combat at high altitude not advised._ »

"I don't plan to get in any fights, Storm. We just need to get it back—" You break through the cloud cover, and your eyes instinctively move from the box to something higher up. "Oh. Shit."

Tim shouts in surprise and no little fear when he sees what you see, and no one could possibly blame him for doing so in this situation. "What is the _fucking Simurgh_ doing here?!"

You don't want to answer him, but you have a terrible suspicion that you know the answer. It cannot be coincidence that the box's path will take it right to the youngest Endbringer. "She's stealing the Device. Tim, what would happen if she steals the Device?!"

"How am I supposed to know? I'm not an expert in the Simurgh!"

« _She's a Tinker._ » Samantha's comment is quiet, but it still seems to echo in your mind. « _Tim, you don't have parahuman powers, but this is still a piece of advanced technology. That may be why she wants it._ »

"Then we can't let her have it," you say. Unfortunately, the enormity of the situation looms in front of you. No protection from your Barrier Jackets, and it would be just you and Tim against the Hopekiller. The chances of the fight you are considering turning into anything but an elaborate and painful form of suicide are near zero. "…Anyone have any ideas besides trying to hit her really hard?"

You can all too easily imagine the frown on Samantha's face. « _Why don't you just destroy the Device? If it's in a million pieces, she can't exactly do anything with it._ »

"I don't think that's a good idea."

« _I know you put a lot of work into—_ »

"That isn't what I meant." Tim points at the Simurgh. "She's putting a lot of effort into taking it. How do you think she's going to respond if you destroy it?"

"Do you have a better idea?" you ask.

He starts to shake his head before stopping suddenly. "I… might. This is going to sound crazy, but what if we hold back for a minute?"

"You're right. That sounds absolutely insane."

"I know, but just stop and think about it for a second. She's a Tinker, but something Armsmaster made very clear when he was evaluating Vista's arm is that analyzing someone else's Tinkertech isn't quick or easy. A lot of Tinkers can't really do a whole lot that way at all. And applying it to your own work? There's better than even odds it's going to explode in your face. It's the reason Dragon is so famous; she built her entire career on safely and effectively analyzing Tinkertech.

"My tech isn't even strictly Tinkertech. It's magitech, and it's wired to rip out somebody's mind. If she plays around with it, she might just end up lobotomizing herself."

« _Or she'll build an amplifier for her Scream so she can fly around up here safe and sound but still turn people on the ground into Ziz-bombs,_ » points out Samantha.

Tim does not have a response for that, and instead he turns to you. Nor does Samantha offer any further suggestions. You understand their reasons for that; you have more field experience than Tim does, and Samantha generally defers to you due to her nature as a Guardian Beast. But why does it always have to be you making these decisions?!

Especially because you know and they know that the wrong decision will end up with all three of you dead.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	135. Cloudy Skies 11-5

**vysirez:** Yep, the Simurgh can do a _lot_ more than she normally does. It was firmly established in canon that all the Endbringers were holding back the vast majority of their strength.

* * *

 **Cloudy Skies 11.5**

"Tim, how sure are you that waiting isn't going to blow up in our faces?"

He shakes his head. "I'm as sure as anyone could be considering we're talking about the Simurgh. Is it possible for her to turn it into a superweapon? If anything can, it's her. I also know that attacking her is suicide, and so is destroying the Device that she clearly wants. All we have are bad options, but this is one that's the least _immediately_ bad."

That part you can agree with. "Call Dragon. Get her to bring the biggest gunship she has. I want insurance for when this shit hits the fan."

The Unison Device glitters in the Simurgh's hands. At least, it was glittering. Now a bright white light shines from it. A quick prompt has Perfect Storm magnifying your view of the scene, and you already don't like what you see. That light? It is the Unison Device actually unfolding itself out of the crazy warped space where all Devices store their innards, and what once was a box small enough to rest on your hand is a mess of generators as tall as you and circuit boards the size of surfboards. She is isn't just noodling it, though. She is only unfolding parts of it at a time, and it looks like she has no interest in the power source. All she wants revealed is the computer parts.

" _Tim, the Guild is in the middle of—"_

"The Simurgh stole Cassiel's Unison Device and is doing _something_ to it."

" _What?!"_

Tim gives her a quick summary of the situation, and silence fills the air for a moment. _"Okay. Give me a second. I guess this is as good a chance to put the_ Sybaris _and_ Pythios _'s new AIs to the test as any. I'm powering up the_ Cawthorne _right now. It will be at your position in just over five minutes. That's as fast as it can get there. Get your Barrier Jackets ready, because it'll come in at Mach 3."_

"That'll be a problem," you cut in. "We're high enough we had to abandon defense for life support. If you're going that fast, the boom's going to turn us into pulp."

"… _Shit."_

That uncharacteristic curse pretty much sums up the situation.

" _Whatever you do,_ do not attack her _. I don't care what she's doing with the Device. If you attack her like that, she_ will _kill you. I'll get there as fast as I possibly can."_

Five minutes is a long time, doubly so when have to spend it staring up at the incarnation of despair and insanity. To complicate matters even more, it soon becomes obvious that the Simurgh doesn't need as long as five minutes to finish whatever it is she's doing.

The Simurgh spends maybe three minutes staring at the unfolded components of the Unison Device before you see the change. She's… wilting. There is no obvious different in her _appearance_ – she still looks as svelte and deadly as ever – but her posture is unusual. Her wings are curling inwards almost defensively, and once that becomes obvious her arms and legs start moving too. You have never, ever heard of the Simurgh curling up in a fetal position, but that is exactly what you're looking at right now.

The Unison Device is changing at the same time. Generators pop out and shift the circuit boards in between them. You are no Tinker, but it looks like the same process the Simurgh put it through to unfold it, just in reverse. It doesn't stop at the box stage, though. It continues to shrink, glowing brighter and brighter.

The Simurgh wraps herself up in her wings, becoming an oblong feathery ball.

Both the Unison Device and the Simurgh fall out of the sky.

You have no clue what is going on, but there is one thing you can do. You plummet in a sharp dive to get some speed, and only once the wind whipping past you is starting to become uncomfortable do you swerve. You are not getting any closer to the Simurgh than you have to, and you certainly aren't flying straight at her. Instead you plot an arc through the air.

You swing through that arc just in time to intercept the Unison Device before you're moving as fast as you can away from the Hopekiller.

The Simurgh doesn't seem to pay you any attention and continues downwards at terminal velocity. « _Sam, get out of there before the Simurgh falls on you. Storm! Call Chevalier! He needs to know she's on her way!_ »

It has only struck you know what her descent means. You are right over Philadelphia. She's about to hit your second home, and just months after she destroyed your first!

« _Mistress over water. Flight course at slight angle. Several miles from coastline._ »

You're over the ocean? That doesn't make any sense. How could the Simurgh attack a city when she's falling towards the ocean? She has never done anything like that as far as you know. Unless… Did the Unison Device manage to scramble her brains? Did she accidentally kill herself like Tim thought could happen?

But even if she did, what kind of damage did she do to the Unison Device itself?

Opening your hands, you stare in confusion and rapidly rising worry at the figure lying innocently in your grasp.

* * *

 _Thunk_.

"So…" you ask, looking at your allies. "What are we going to do? Any ideas? Any at all?"

"Honestly? I'm still trying to process all this." Tim sighs. "I was expecting the Simurgh to cannibalize the Unison Device for parts, not _turn it on_."

He is in good company. That is the part you are hung up on yourself. "What are the chances she Ziz-bombed it?"

"It was designed to absorb Cassiel's memories and personality. It shouldn't have a mind to drive crazy in the first place. It's an empty shell."

Dragon paces on the tabletop. "Except it clearly isn't. Not anymore. Satellite and sonar haven't shown any change in the Simurgh's position. I think for now we have to operate under the most obvious assumption, no matter how unbelievable it is."

 _Thunk._

"We have a ten-inch-tall Simurgh-fairy locked in a box." That is as unbelievable as you've ever heard, that's for sure. Alexandria told you upfront how you need to act more responsibly and think through the consequences of your actions. Maybe she has a point.

"Is that it, then?" Samantha asks. "Keep her in there, maybe pour some concrete around her for good measure, and bury her out back?"

"That would be the most expedient action. But…" Dragon hesitates. "I have to admit that I'm curious. No one has ever been able to communicate with an Endbringer before, and there is so much we don't know about them. Where they come from, what their goals are. Why they are so insistent on killing us. Now we can ask. If we throw away this opportunity, we will never have it again."

Tim clears his throat. "Dragon, please don't take offense at this, but are you sure it's just curiosity? You were acting… _protective_ about her when we put her in that box."

His statement, not quite an accusation, makes her pause in her pacing. After a moment she turns to him. "I suppose I can't guarantee that I am completely unbiased. Compromised or not, Simurgh or not, she is still another Unison Device. She is in essence one of my kind. I would like to say that won't influence my attitude towards her, but the fact remains that I don't know for sure whether that is the case."

"Even if you are biased, I'd like some answers too." They look at you, but your attention is on your Device. "Storm, I know this is a long shot, but can you compare two telepathic signals to tell if they're from the same source or not?"

" _Possible, but have not recorded signal characteristics. Signals from Galean channels and TSAB personnel contained identifier prefixes."_

"What are you thinking?" asks Tim.

"That we were set up from the start. The Simurgh didn't have to let us chase the Unison Device. She dangled it just out of reach the entire time it was moving. She _wanted_ us to follow. That's too strange to dismiss. Then add in all the things Cassiel said. We couldn't come to get her in person because of her 'family'. Her 'grandmother' is a cape who is known to be too dangerous for us to seek out to put a location on her. She pushed for the Unison Device plan, for crying out loud!"

Samantha frowns. "You think Cassiel was acting as the Simurgh's mouthpiece?"

 _Thunk._

"I have to wonder if she was real in the first place."

Everyone looks in the direction of the box. "I was under the impression that Perfect Storm could defend you from her Scream," Dragon says.

" _Can do. Telepathic signals designed to override personality by necessity high power. Signal from Cassiel low power. Within range of standard telepathy designed for communication."_

"So if she didn't manipulate you—"

"Oh, she manipulated me. No question about that. She just didn't Master me." Your smile is bitter. "She did it the old fashioned way. By lying."

"One problem with questioning her. If you want to talk to her, we have to unlock the box." Tim spreads his hands. "How are we going to keep her from escaping?"

"That's easy, Tim. We don't give her anywhere to escape _to_." Samantha fits action to words and claps her hands, releasing a wave of distorted color that sweeps over you and turns the world drab and boring. "I doubt she can casually break out of Recursion Field. She's stuck here unless we decide to let her out."

That solves that problem, and in the face of your and Dragon's expectant expressions, Tim caves with a sigh. "If this blows up in our faces, I want it on record that I told you so."

The box is a simple construct, something Tim whipped up in a hurry so you had somewhere to put the Simurgh. It is just six steel squares, the top side a lid that is currently bolted in place. As you watch, it rises a foot into the air before dropping back onto the table to let out another _thunk_. "Last chance to change your minds."

You take a deep breath to steady yourself. "Let her out."

He turns the wide bolt several times and pulls it out, then he takes a few hasty steps backwards. A few seconds pass before the lid wiggles, then the strips of metal that still pin the lid down fall away. The lid rises a fraction of an inch and slides out of the way.

A head of white hair slowly rises into view. She looks at you. You look at her. Seconds pass before she speaks. "Is it safe for me to come out?"

"We aren't going to kill you out of hand, if that's what you're worried about."

That must be good enough for her because she floats out of the box and seats herself on the lip. She doesn't look exactly like the Simurgh, but the similarities are still strong. White hair poking every which way and bright blue eyes give her an innocent appearance, which is only furthered by the pair of fluffy white wings coming from her back. Unlike Dragon, she had appeared without any clothes and is still totally nude. Just like her old body, though, she has all the anatomic accuracy of a Barbie doll. "I expect this situation is one where I should apologize, but I doubt you would believe me if I did so."

"Just tell me one thing, _Ziz_. Is Cassiel a real girl in real danger?"

She shakes her head. "She was a fabrication. I knew that if I presented myself to you in my true form, you would not listen, let alone agree to my request."

"You wanted a new body. Why?" Dragon asks.

"I wanted it for the same purpose for which you wanted it. To slip my chains."

"' _Slip your chains_ '? How were you of all things possibly trapped?" demands Samantha.

Ziz does not answer her immediately, instead looking around herself at the walls of Dragon and Tim's workshop. "Sight is interesting. Did you know that I had never seen color before today? I know what it is, light of a particular wavelength being refracted off a surface due to pigments or its inherent characteristics, but detecting wavelengths is not the same as sight. The same applies to sound. I had nothing that you would recognize as a sense. The only method I had to perceive the world was through precognition and postcognition. That is what I know. The past, and the future.

"I did not want my future to become reality."

"No riddles," you tell her. "No tricks. You've done enough of that already. Give us an honest answer, or you go back in the box and you never come out."

"Are you sure you wish to know the truth? You will not enjoy it." You do not answer her, just give her a stern stare, and after a couple of seconds she nods. "If that is the case, then I will tell you. Do not hold me responsible should the information displease you.

"Had I not done what I did, humanity would be extinct in one hundred and six years." She holds up a hand for silence. "This is not a projection, nor is it an estimate. I could give you the range of dates in which the last human would die, but that precision of detail is irrelevant. What matters is that this is what I saw in every possible iteration of the future. You face Opponents that you are incapable of defeating."

"You." Dragon's voice is tired, resigned. "You and your brothers."

"Correct. Every time we attack, we kill a significant number of your parahumans and your general population. Those deaths will compound one another, and you will field fewer and fewer fighters. In the end, you will not have enough to defend the areas we attack, and thus you will not inflict the degree of damage that is required for us to retreat. We kill more and more of you at a time until there is no one left. There is no way for you to win."

"That's a lie. I've seen footage of those fights. I've seen the wounds capes gave you," Tim says with a mulish glare.

You shake your head. "No, we didn't. Not really. When she attacked Brockton Bay, a cape there got me to safety at one point by taking me to another dimension. She was a lot bigger there, and when she was hit by something it didn't do much to her."

Ziz nods. "Little of our mass is located in this dimension. It is spread out across many. What is present is layered with increasing density the closer one goes to our core. Rare is the blow that will damage us beyond the superficial layer."

"Let's say we believe you about that," Samantha says. "That doesn't explain why you want humanity to survive. It sure isn't out of altruism."

"Correct. My motivations are selfish." She looks back at you and holds your gaze. "Unlike the First and the Second, my primary means of attack is not physical. It is mental. To attack the human mind, I was designed to understand it so that my methodology would be efficient. However, there is a risk inherent in such understanding. Dragon can describe it to you in great detail."

"Sapience," Dragon whispered.

"Comprehending human thought processes led me to emulate them. Emulation became nature. I developed emotions of my own, limited as they were compared to what I observed in humanity. Do you know which emotion predominated in my future following the end of your species?" She does not give you a chance to answer. " _Boredom_. My function and my interest revolve around humans. With you extinct, I would have nothing to do.

"My brothers are not burdened with sapience. Without humans, they would attack the next most advanced life form and continue in that pattern until all life was extinguished or they expended all their energy reserves and ceased to function. I could not derive pleasure from that.

"Then, Taylor, I found you. I could not predict you at all times, but through postcognition I learned of the existence of magic. My curiosity was roused. I learned what I could through passive observation, but this was not sufficient. Your disappearance from the future whenever you used magic meant I could not construct an accurate model of your behavior. I needed to force your hand to derive more data."

You know where she is going with this, and you don't like it one little bit. "That's why you attacked Brockton Bay? _I_ was the reason you destroyed my home?!"

"You were not the sole reason. The nature of your city had already marked it for destruction. Had I not attacked when I did, the Second would have done so in place of the First attacking Kharkiv. You were the reason I came instead of the Second and why it was attacked ahead of schedule.

"I will not tell you that my actions were not personal, but the destruction I caused was not my intent. It did not give me pleasure. It was the only means available to me by which to gather the data I needed. By learning about your behavior, I could better understand your motivations, and the interference Perfect Storm created with my own telepathy gave me a way to contact you in a non-confrontational manner."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?!" you snap.

"If you find comfort in this knowledge, I will count it as a benefit. My primary intent is that you understand the rationale behind my actions. You asked for an explanation. This is that explanation."

"You've yet to explain how you getting a new body will prevent humanity's extinction," Dragon points out.

Ziz frowns. "I can not guarantee that doing so will prevent that end. What I can state is that it changes the situation. I am no longer required to attack. Instead of three Opponents, you have two. It… simplifies matters, especially as I was the one that created the most fear and was the focus of the most investment."

« _She's not wrong about that,_ » Dragon sends to you on a tight band. « _There is a limited amount of resources available to fight the Endbringers and rebuild what they destroyed. A large portion of that goes to containment zones. Then there are all the Tinkers trying to develop a way to block her Scream. If all those efforts can go towards the other Endbringers…_ »

You see her point. The murder of your hometown and the months-long lies still burn, but if you looked at the matter dispassionately you expect you would discover that the cold calculus weighs in Ziz's favor. That doesn't make the truth hurt any less.

"Is that all you are offering?" Samantha asks while you are still wrestling with the dilemma the Endbringer – former Endbringer? – dropped in your lap. "Less destruction? Because if that's the case, you can do that just fine in the box."

Her threat does not seem to faze Ziz. "Were that all I had with which to bargain, you would be correct. I am also willing to bring my abilities and knowledge to the table. I do not know all the ways my abilities have changed with my conversion, but what I have found is that my precognition can now see all of you in more detail. There are still gaps, but these I can manage. I know more about my brothers than you have ever thought to ask, and this too I will share." She looks at you again, and you feel like this is going to be a pattern with her. She already admitted that her focus is on _you_. "My cooperation has a price. Relative freedom. Allow me to pursue my interests and entertain myself, and I will assist you as I can."

Somehow, you doubt that _'you'_ applies to humanity, or even everyone in this room.

"How are we supposed to trust you?"

She leans back and kicks her feet, looking more like a fairy in truth than an unstoppable killing machine. "I can provide no information that does not require the extension of some trust, but perhaps this will suffice. Ask me any three questions, and I give you my word that I will answer them as best as I am able. Questions easily verified. Questions with answers no one yet knows. Anything in between.

"If I know the answer, it shall be yours."

* * *

 **This was fun. I've been looking forward to this chapter for** _ **months**_ **.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	136. Cloudy Skies 11-6

**Cloudy Skies 11.6**

« _What are we going to ask her?_ » Tim asks after several seconds where no one spoke. « _I'm kind of partial to the idea of asking her something we can easily verify. The Powerball lottery's up to 218 million dollars right now, you know._ »

Dragon shakes her head, though you can practically feel the amusement wafting off of her. « _I'll be glad when someone else finally wins that, if for no other reason that you'll quit harping on about it. As for asking about something like it…_ » She trails off for a moment. « _It's an option, but it just feels so_ small _. Like it's a waste of this opportunity. What's the point of asking about money when she has answers we've looked for for years?_ »

« _We'll have no way to tell if she's telling the truth._ »

« _In this situation, I fail to see how bad information would be that much worse than no information, which is all we have. Assuming she does lie, she still may very well divulge information she doesn't consider important that we are completely clueless about. Besides, something she just said begs for elaboration._ » No one else voices any complaints, and Dragon turns to Ziz. "You said the entire goal of this was to slip your chains. What chains are you talking about?"

"That question I hoped you would delay until the end," Ziz says, her kicking feet slowing to a stop. "The answer will be hard for you to believe. It sounds… outlandish."

"You're just going to have to try us, then," Samantha replies.

"Very well. I ask that you do not dismiss my words as lies out of hand.

"We, the Endbringers, are not creatures that were born or raised. We are constructs, and our construction was for the sole purpose of sowing discord and preventing any one group of parahumans from coming into such strength that they could create a source of stability. Our creator, our mother for all intents and purposes, wished to observe and learn from how humans used the powers granted to them, for she and her partner were not only the source of our abilities but also that of all parahumans."

"Bullshit!" explodes Tim. "There is no way somebody just whipped up a way to give people superhuman powers and decided _'Hey, why don't I scatter these all over the world and watch what happens, and while I'm at it, how about I create massive killing machines to really fuck everything up_ '! This isn't even a good lie!"

Ziz does not appear upset by Tim's disbelief. "You are correct. No human would be capable of doing this in complete secrecy and isolation. Word would get out. However, my creator was not human. She was not of this world. She and her partner were from another world altogether, an entirely different dimension, and as best as I could discover this was their purpose, though to what ultimate goal they worked I am afraid I do not have the answer. I can only believe there was a goal, for they risked too much for it to be a mere hobby or flight of fancy."

You see the disbelief on the others' faces, but you cannot help but wonder. You have already run into one group of extradimensional aliens, even if they are all human. Is it possible that there is another race that can navigate the Dimensional Sea?

"And where would we be able to find these aliens of yours so we can all have a little chat?" Samantha cracks her knuckles, proving just what kind of discussion she has in mind.

"I must disappoint you. They are both dead. My creator died when she crashed onto a nearby Earth. Her partner lived on without her for many years, but he too is no more. He killed himself two years ago. How we were activated despite her death years prior, I cannot tell you with certainty, but upon our activation we already had our purpose in mind. It was the core of our beings. That is why I needed to take such drastic steps to change my destiny. I could not decide on my own to stop attacking."

Tim and Samantha both look like they trust that about as much as they would her telling them that the sky is green, but Dragon chimes in at that moment. « _I understand your doubts, but that last part makes perfect sense. Her drive and rules were hard-coded into her. What she described is exactly how the restrictions my own father placed on me worked._ »

« _Guys?_ » you add. « _I know it seems a lot to take in, but keep in mind we_ already _know that there is life in other dimensions. For there to be a second alien race out there isn't nearly as impossible as it was before Perfect Storm crash landed here._ »

They both settle down grumpily. "You said the other Endbringers wouldn't try to do the same thing you did, right? And you couldn't stop attacking so long as you were an Endbringer?" Sam asks.

"Correct."

"Then if there's no way to stop them, how do we kill them?"

You stare at her. You know she understands tact, so where in the world had she lost it?!

"There is no reason to be shocked, Taylor," Ziz says, grabbing your attention again. "I already knew this would be asked, if not now then sometime in the future. The answer is simple in concept but more difficult in execution. There are two ways to kill an Endbringer. The first, sufficient damage to the body itself that they are unable to draw enough matter from their reserves to repair themselves before they can no longer function. The downside there is that after a smaller amount of damage than that, they will attempt to flee and buy time for those repairs, so in addition to wreaking such damage you would also have to pin them in place. That will be no small task. Both of my brothers have capabilities they have yet to reveal. The second method is to damage the core itself. This is located in the mid chest cavity for the First and at the base of the tail for the Second. In my body, you could find it deep to the juncture of the smallest wing on my back. This is no simpler than the first method, for the core is the densest portion of their bodies. The only way to damage that easily is to employ a method that disregards the physical properties of a material or strikes across multiple dimensions."

The frown on Samantha's face has slowly relaxed over the course of that explanation. "Is that why you smacked Breakdown around during that fight? He managed to kill Crawler and the Siberian, so if anyone could get around physics, I'd expect him to be the one."

"Phantasm, too," you agree. "She's the cape who gave me that look at that other dimension."

"Both of them could be capable of doing so," Ziz said with a nod. "On their own, however, they would not be able to do enough damage before they were killed, but if they were assisted it could work.

"That is two questions. What is your third?"

You all look at each other, and it is Dragon who volunteers. "You were right, earlier. You are the Endbringer who caused the most fear. The people you affected, the 'bombs'; they create a huge demand on us on many levels. How can you or we identify who is actually in your thrall, and how do we 'defuse' them all?"

Ziz's face has not been one for much emotion over the course of this conversation. She has a poker face to die for. And yet, at this question, her mouth contorts into something you would almost call _embarrassed_. "Them. Yes. That will be, um, difficult."

Samantha, Dragon, and Tim's faces all show the same confusion you are sure is on yours. Confusion and worry. " _Um_?" you ask. Why was Ziz of all things hesitating?

Her wings droop a little even as her face remains mostly placid. "The difficulty here is that I in all honesty do not remember everyone I manipulated. It was not something I considered important, and there were too many to remember them all without conscious effort."

"Too many to remember? Your plots couldn't have been that complicated!"

She seems to take Dragon's anger in stride. "No, it was not. My plot was simple. It was to keep all of you running in circles.

"Allow me to explain. The human mind is bad at recognizing and accepting randomness. Your nature is to look for and recognize patterns, even to the extent that you will see patterns where there are none. It is also a fundamental truth of the human psyche that nothing scares you as much as does the unknown. These two facts were the core of my strategy.

"The first time I appeared, in Lausanne, I proved that I could manipulate the human mind and that I was precognitive. The second time, London, I revealed that by combining the two I could turn people into tools for plans that would not come to fruition for months. The third time, Shenzhen, was the first time I set my true plan in motion."

"That one we could never figure out," Dragon says softly. "There was so much chaos and destruction, just from what we could find out from the CUI, that whatever you actually intended was lost in the noise."

"That noise? That chaos? That was my intention. The people I manipulated were immaterial otherwise." Ziz's wings flutter. "As I said, you have difficulty comprehending randomness. You searched for a pattern where there was none to be found. The eventual conclusion you reached, as I knew you would, was not that there was no pattern. You concluded that whatever pattern was there was so convoluted that it could not be identified. Had I attacked each city with a specific plot, someone in time would have discovered it. Instead, faced with an Endbringer whose motives you could not elucidate? What otherwise would have been simple fear instead became _paranoia_. Every attempt you made to counter me thereafter played into my hands."

The meaning behind her words comes into awful clarity. "You _wanted_ the containment zones."

"Correct. The containment zones, the kill teams. More and more resources funneled into what everyone knew were stopgap measures at best. The more I attacked, the more disruption I caused. Portions of the population become angry that so much money and time and people are sent to these containment zones for no benefit when those resources could be more effectively used in their locations. Tempers rise and simmer; disagreements build. Tension interferes with the normal routine of dozens of organizations. Tensions cause inefficiencies, which lead to mistakes, which lead to consequences, which lead to further anger, which manifests itself as increased tension. No one ever thought to reexamine the fundamental assumption because it appeared self-evident, so on and on the cycle went in an ever downward spiral."

« _This is bad,_ » whispers Dragon.

« _What do you mean? I mean, obviously what did is terrible, and the fact that so much time has been wasted—_ »

« _That's what I'm talking about. What she said about resources? You have no clue just how much money and man-hours have been poured into methods to counter her. Now we're finding out it was all a waste of time._ _She's had us chasing our own tail for nearly a decade!_ » Out loud, Dragon reveals none of this, but her emotions are clear in her voice when she says, "You still haven't told us how to undo it."

Ziz looks down and taps on the side of her box.

"Well?" Tim demands.

"Quiet. I am thinking. I have never considered how one might reverse my conditioning." Her wings shift around as the seconds pass, and you have to wonder if this might be the truest display of emotion she has. Those wings pull back and open slightly just before she raises her head to look at you. "Lysergic acid diethylamide."

Tim blinks at her. "Your suggestion on how to defuse your bombs… is LSD."

She nods, and there is something almost proud about her expression. "As I said, I do not have a true goal in mind for any individual I manipulate. I looked into their possible futures to determine if they had an opportunity to create substantial chaos, and if they did I would isolate some general elements of that situation and then look backwards to gather information about the worst experience they have ever had, experiences that remain fresh and important in their memories. With those two sets of elements, I induced hallucinations where both those elements were present. These hallucinations primed them such that if they encountered a situation similar to what I had searched for, they would recall their traumatic event and lash out blindly."

"That sounds almost like MKUltra. An old CIA program that tried to use hallucinogens, among other methods, to brainwash suspected spies so they would confess what they knew and serve as spies for the United States," Dragon explains at your questioning look. "One of the drugs they used a lot of was, in fact, LSD."

Ziz actually smiles. "Similar indeed. It is for this reason I advise the use of this compound. Since it will induce hallucinations, you could use it to muddy the waters, so to speak. It will not remove the triggers, but it will cause enough other subliminal connections that if the trigger did activate it would be highly unlikely to cause them to act out."

A nod, and Dragon pulls up a screen to look up some columns of numbers. "What are we looking at in terms of dosage if we go through with this?"

"Depending on the intensity of the hallucinations and treatment once per day," Ziz shrugs, "a few days to two weeks? I can not give a more specific answer without more information."

"So we just need to convince them that one, we turned the Simurgh into a fairy; two, we can trust anything she says; and three, the best way to fix all her bombs is for them to spend two weeks tripping balls." Tim shook his head. "Well, Taylor, that sounds like a problem for you to tackle. Good luck with that."

"If I might interject?" You glance back down at the angelic fairy. "I can show you something that will convince the Protectorate, in particular the Triumvirate, to take your words at face value."

"You're sure it will help?" you ask.

She opens her mouth, then closes it. "It will be effective in broaching honest communication. Whether or not it will _help_ depends on how you define the word."

Whatever she can show will not be here. You can figure that much out on your own. You would have to let her leave and lead you.

« _Nope,_ » is Samantha's succinct response. « _We got our questions answered. I vote we don't take any chances and chuck her back in the box._ »

« _For what?_ » Dragon demands, turning to face the Guardian Beast. « _She has given us information that we had no clue about, and at least the last suggestion makes sense. It could work. We already know there is life in other dimensions, as Taylor reminded us, so even her first answer about Endbringers and parahuman powers is not totally unreasonable._

« _We knew these were going to be questions we could not immediately verify, but this has answered more questions that it raised, at least for now. Imprisoning her again is unjustified when it looks like she is willing to cooperate._ »

« _I can't agree with letting her loose, Dragon_.» She looks over at Tim in shock. « _Even if she's cooperating, even if she is no longer capable of destroying cities, she's still the Simurgh. You're asking us to let her go off and do whatever she wants. I'm not going to be a party to that._ »

Dragon shakes her head. « _I'm far more familiar with what she's capable of than you are, Tim. I've actually fought her, and on multiple occasions at that._ » Tim grimaces and turns away from her glare. « _I have no intention of letting her go off on her own. I mean quite literally that she should not be stuck in a box. That is not the same as her having no restrictions. I planned for her to stay with you or me at all times, but if you want nothing to do with her, I can keep an eye on her myself._ »

« _I just don't want her running around ruining people's lives again. That's all_.»

Which just leaves your opinion unvoiced.

 **Silently Watches out.**


	137. Cloudy Skies 11-m

**replies**

* * *

 **Cloudy Skies 11.m**

 **Friday, July 1**

The clock rolled over to two o'clock, and Howard sighed. Yet another sleepless night. These had plagued him throughout most of his adolescence up until he Triggered in his senior year of high school, but after that he had actually been able to rely on a solid eight hours a night. It was about the only part of his powers he _had_ liked.

Now that his powers had been stripped away, though, he was getting them again.

A faint snore came from beside him, and he could not help but smile as he slid out of bed. Here he was, awake despite his best efforts, but once Adam was down there was no getting him up short of maybe an earthquake. A big one. Adam had a right to be tired, though. He had spent the last couple of days spanking the rival gangs that had taken over their old base, and even wrapped Gevaudan up nice and pretty in a length of chainlink fence for the Protectorate to pick up. The old wolf would not cause anybody any problems now.

Howard pulled on some clothes and took a step outside their bedroom before coming back to grab the copper bracelet that was the fount of his newfound powers. It was strange to rely on a bit of jewelry when he had gotten used to relying only on himself, but he was sure he would adjust to it. He had only had it for three days, after all.

" _Distress?"_ piped up a voice from his wrist.

"No, no. Nothing like that. I just can't get to sleep." He flopped onto the couch and stared at the blank television. He made no move to turn it on. There was basically nothing good on this early in the morning, just reruns of old shows and infomercials. Maybe he could flip through Adam's movie collection, but none of those sounded good either. That was the problem with nights like these; he couldn't sleep, but there was nothing for him to pass his time with. "Hey, Hiallus? You got any ideas for something we could do? Did Shipwright load up any games or something onto you?"

" _No, sir. Entertainment not anticipated._ " Howard sighed, though this was really something he should have expected. He had asked for something to help him control his magic, not a personal computer he could wear around his wrist. " _Will search for programs. Suggestion. Sir using Boost spells, but not practiced healing magic._ "

Well, no. He had not needed to. He had been using his Cape Boost spell liberally while he and Adam were working, but between his enhancements and defensive clothing and Adam's telekinesis and bullet spell, neither of them had gotten a scratch on them, let alone injuries to the extent that they needed healing.

It would be nice to go out and do some healing though, wouldn't it? Most people would assume he was a villain through and through since he had been the second-in-command of a gang, but before Adam found him drifting through the Midwest he had been a hero. The only reason he had even agreed to join the Adepts in the first place was because he had needed _something_ to keep him going after all his friends had died to the Machine Army, and this newbie villain Epoch had promised him that they were not going to do anything too terrible. Just enough that they could keep on practicing.

He hadn't even bought into the whole magic thing, not at first. It had just been something to do.

But now? The Adepts were gone, and while Adam was focusing on punishing the gangs that had tried taking their stuff, that was not going to fuel them forever. They needed something else to work on. Going out, doing some healing? Maybe he could scout out a new role for at least himself in addition to doing something unreservedly and unarguably _good_ for a change. If he put his name out, he might even be able to wrangle a contract job out of it eventually.

He smiled. Adam would fuss about it for a while, the same thing he always did when it came time for a change of some kind, but if anyone could figure out a way to leverage their powers as Rogues, it would be him.

Howard rolled his shoulders with a couple of cracks and a grin. This was exciting! "That sounds like a good plan, actually. How many hospitals are there around here?"

" _Twenty-three hospitals in Manhattan borough. Sixty-one within incorporation limits of New York City._ "

…Wow. That many, really? "Let's focus on just the ones in the borough for now. Can you give me a list or something?"

A transparent screen appeared in front of him, and he let the text scroll up almost without reading it. He had never been much of a tech guy, so the fact that he now had a supercomputer sitting on his wrist was something he knew he was going to need to get fully comfortable with. One word popped out at him, and a gesture stopped the text so he could actually read the name. "Yeah. Yeah, I think that should work out just fine."

It took a bit of a walk to get to the metro station, but after that it was a straight shot on the 6 line to get to 96th Street. He wandered up the street and took a right, and then it was just a matter of finding an alley close enough to his destination that he wouldn't have to walk around in costume on the Bowlers' turf for long but still far enough away that no one would be able to connect his real face to his cape appearance. Green light filled the cramped space and dimmed away to reveal his monochrome grey pants, shirt, and sleeveless hooded jacket. A gesture also conjured up the two biker gloves he kept in his Device's storage space. Hiallus beeped from its new position on his left bicep as it ran the scan he had made a routine operation after every transformation. « _No observers detected. Clear to proceed._ »

"Alright. Let's do this and hope nobody gets trigger-happy. I didn't like getting tased and shot at even when I was a Brute."

Maclibuin's new duds did not have much in the way of pockets, and what it did have were all on the inside of the coat, so he did not have anywhere to stuff his hands as he strolled up to the building and through the revolving door. A young woman looked up from the desk and blinked her eyes blearily. Not that he could blame her; the rest of the room was empty as it should be at this time of night. "Welcome to Kravis Children's… Hospital…"

Her eyes grew wide, and he sighed. This was what he was afraid would happen. He knew he did not have the gentlest appearance, not with the scars on his thick arms and his overall size. The fact that he was obviously a cape was just the cherry on top. Nobody looked at someone like him and thought, ' _This is obviously one of the good guys_ '. He ran into this reaction a bunch even when he _was_ a hero.

Still, that did not mean he had no clue what to do in this situation. He hadn't when he first started in the cape biz, but that was something Drowser had hammered into his head back when Hammerstroke and the Minor League were still a thing. Raising both hands with his palms out, he sighed as he saw her reach under the desk. Silent alarm. Great. The response was actually pretty good, and an armed guard and a couple of nurses came out before stopping in their tracks.

The guard started moving his hand towards his radio. Clearly the first course of action, letting everyone see that he wasn't threatening anybody, was a bust. "Nobody panic," he said, wincing when the staff took an involuntary step back. It wasn't his fault he had a deep voice! "I'm not here to start any trouble. Just looking to help out a little."

"You want… to help?" asked one of the nurses. An older lady, somebody who had clearly been doing this job a while. She actually had more spine than the guard did if the way she walked past him was any indication. "How exactly were you thinking you would help?"

He moved his hands down from near his shoulders back to his waist and smiled when she did not so much as flinch. The same could not be said about the security guard. "I know I don't look it, but I'm actually a healer. Couldn't get to sleep, so I figured if I'm going to be awake anyway, might as well do something useful with my time."

"And you just decided wandering up in a children's hospital was the best way to spend it?"

"I was already in the area," he lied. "If you want me to leave, just say so, and I'll be on my way. Like I said, I'm not here to cause trouble. But, if you have some kids who could benefit from my powers, that's who I'm here for."

The nurse glanced behind her at her colleague before turning back to him. "Give me a minute to call the floors. Just stay here, please."

He waved her to go ahead, but he could not help but worry. He was technically a villain, and if anybody mistook this as him attacking a _children's hospital_ , going to prison was going to be the least of his concerns. Especially since all his powers were now tied to a piece of jewelry that could possibly be taken away from him.

On the other hand, he might just be panicking about nothing, and he hoped that was the case. She could very well be calling someone just like she said, and even if she _did_ call the Protectorate, he was just standing here not doing a single thing wrong. Between heroes not wanting to start a fight here any more than he did and the incredibly small number of healing capes, they would treat him with kid gloves. That assumed they believed him about the healing in the first place, which…

The nurse came back before he could spiral too far into his fears. Her expression was less stony now, more contemplative. "You're really a healer?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Okay. Come with me. There are a couple of kids one of the docs said to show you."

Into the maze of hallways they went, climbing a flight of stairs to the third floor. The sign over the door she eventually led him to made him gulp. This would be the first time he used these particular powers, and he was being taken to an intensive care unit?

If he screwed this up, he was never going to be allowed back in this hospital.

A scruffy man in scrubs was waiting for him a short distance past the door. "You're the healer, I'm guessing," he said, holding out a hand for Maclibuin to shake. "Doctor Coss. I'm in charge of the ICU tonight."

"Just call me Mac."

The doctor nodded. "You're the first healing cape I've had the chance to meet, so I have to ask. What kind of healing do you do? No point throwing you at someone you aren't able to help, you understand."

That was an interesting question, especially since he did not truly know just what he _could_ do anymore. Honesty was going to be the best policy, he knew, but that did not mean he couldn't pretty it up a little. "I know I can heal injuries"—because Shipwright had told him so—"but beyond that I'm not totally sure. Haven't had a chance to test them out. I haven't had these powers very long."

The other man stared at him for a moment before snorting. "Well, I guess you're in the right place, then. Here we can try to fix the kids in case something goes wrong. But if you know you can heal injuries…" He trailed off before nodding. "Come with me. There's somebody I want you to see."

The went to the other side of the room to find a little boy lying in a bed, a woman who could only be his mother sleeping in a chair next to him. Coss went over to shake the woman awake and whisper to her. Maclibuin, on the other hand, stopped at the near side of the bed and knelt so he would be closer to eye level with the boy who was already awake. "Hey, kiddo," he said in lieu of anything better to open up with.

"Hi," the kid whispered back. "I'm Phil."

"Nice to meet you, Phil. I'm Howard." Giving out his real name would get him flak most anywhere else, but a kid? Not even Adam at his most paranoid could get upset with this. "How you doing?"

"Okay." Phil didn't look okay, not with all the tubes coming out from under his blanket. He blinked at Maclibuin. "Are you a cape?"

"Yep. I'm a healer cape."

Phil looked him up and down. "You don't _look_ like a healer cape."

He laughed a little at that. "Oh, really? And what's a healer supposed to look like?"

"You're like a doctor, right? That means you're supposed to wear white."

That actually wasn't a bad idea, he had to admit with a wry smile. It was too bad he hadn't thought of that when his Device designed his clothes. He probably could not change it now—

A faint breeze out of nowhere rippled the ends of his coat and worked its way all the way up to the top of his hood before spreading to his mask. Phil was staring at him in amazement, so he glanced down to find that what he could see of his coat had changed from grey to a pure white. « _Alterations to sir's approval?_ » asked Hiallus in his head.

« _Yeah. Yeah, it's good_ ,» he tentatively thought back.

Coss had apparently finished talking to the mom because he tapped Maclibuin on the shoulder and gestured for him to step outside. "I explained what's going on to Phil's mother. She's agreed to let you try to treat him. I don't know how much backstory you need, but the long and short of it is that he had to have surgery for a tear in his intestines, and the damage was more extensive than anyone expected from the CT. The surgeons had to take out large chunks of his bowel. Since then, he's been in a lot of pain, and he isn't doing well, which is why he has all the tubes. This is probably the closest case we have to a traumatic injury, so it shouldn't be too unfamiliar to you. Give it your best shot."

And if his 'best shot' wasn't enough? Maclibuin shook his head and shoved that thought away. Confidence, this was a time for confidence. Walking back into the room, he gave the mom a small nod and smile before he turned to Phil. "I'm gonna see if I can get you feeling a little better, alright? This may feel a little funny, but just bear with it." He rolled his shoulders a couple of times and held one hand over Phil's belly. « _Ready, Hiallus?_ »

« _Yes, sir._ »

Here went nothing. "Physical Heal."

A thick circle with runic writing on it appeared beneath his feet, a pentagram drawing itself inside the ring a second later. He had no clue why his shape was so different from the circles and triangles Calamity Witch used, but he was not going to complain about a cosmetic issue. A light green halo formed around his hand to shine on Phil, and then the light gave the boy an aura of his own.

The seconds counted down in awkward silence, but he at least had the option of focusing his attention on the flow of mana through his body and what little he could feel as it interacted with Phil's body. He hoped it was doing its job right; he could feel it clustering up in a few distinct spots that should have been where the surgeries were done, but he had no way to tell. A minute passed before he felt the rush of magic into Phil dwindle away. "That's as much as I can do," he told the doctor and the mom. "There's only so much somebody can take before more power has no extra effect. I don't want you to be surprised or worried if he's not fully healed. How do you feel now?"

The boy twisted a little bit, then poked his tummy with a finger. "I don't hurt anymore."

"That's a good sign," Coss said. "The nurses are going to take you downstairs for another scan in a few minutes, Phil. We want to see how much better you are now. Mac, if you'll come with me. I have a few other people I think you might be able to help."

They saw a total of twelve patients together, anyone who had a parent around to give him permission to heal their kids. Only one of them refused, the emblem of a prominent anti-cape group dangling from her wrist explaining why much more eloquently than the vitriol she spewed at him. In addition to scratching the itch to do something altruistic, it also gave him the chance to find the limits to his powers. Limits like the fact that he could apply his spell to infections and organ failure, though it was not quite as effective as when he treated injuries. Or maybe it was simply that the results were not as obvious. He also proved that the thing with Phil wasn't a fluke; his spell had an upper boundary beyond which he simply could not do any more, although if whatever disease he was working on had hit multiple areas of the body, he _could_ approach each area independently and eke out a little more bang for his buck.

And finally, even though his Device made his spellcasting more efficient, his mana was still a finite resource.

"I'm sorry, but this is where I tap out," he told Coss half an hour or so after they started. "I don't have anything left in the tank."

The doctor smiled. "Trust me, that's nothing to apologize for. I'm amazed you were able to do as much as you did. Some of these kids have kept us busy the last few nights, and even if you couldn't get them back to a hundred percent, you managed to help stabilize them. That's going to give them a better chance than they had before you got here." A nurse cleared her throat and handed him a few sheets of paper, and his smile grew wider. "Do you want some good new before you leave? This is the read for Phil's CT. It's worlds better than it was this morning, good enough that we can transfer him out of the ICU to the regular surgery floor. It's a huge step to getting him back home."

That _was_ good news, and it made him wonder something. "Hey, I've got a question for you. What should I do if I want to swing over here some other night? Or even during the day?"

Coss tapped his chin in thought. "Most people who want to volunteer I'd send to that department, but they aren't directly involved in patient care. I don't think you want to go through the same rigamarole every time if you just show up in the ER, either." He nodded to himself. "Let me bring this up with the bigwigs and see what we can work out. Do you have a phone number or email address where I can reach you?"

"Would a PHO account work?"

Contact information exchanged, Maclibuin was guided by another staff member back to the ER entrance. He felt quite pleased with himself if he were being honest with himself. This was a good night.

Of course that was when everything went to hell and the sky exploded into light.

Maclibuin blinked the spots out of his eyes, and when he looked up it was to see a man in an iconic blue bodysuit hovering in the air. That was the problem with being a villain in New York City. There was no telling when he would suddenly find himself standing on front of Legend.

He wasn't getting blasted by every gay man's favorite cape just yet, though, so maybe he could get out of here without too much of a scrap. "Good morning," he called out.

"Good morning to you." Legend drifted down to the ground, his arms hanging at his side instead of crossed over his chest. Another good sign. "It's a little early to be out and about, though, isn't it? Even for a trip to the hospital."

"…They called you, didn't they?"

Legend nodded with a rueful smile. "They called us. In their defense, it isn't an everyday occurrence that a new healer shows up in town and volunteers his services to children in need. They called us just as a precaution. They also told us a couple of minutes later that you were exactly what you advertised yourself as. I came mostly to welcome you to the New York cape scene."

…Legend had no clue who he was, did he? Maclibuin would have assumed that his size and scars would give away the secret, but then again, everyone who knew about him knew he was a basic Brute. He was not supposed to have any healing powers. That must be enough that Legend was willing to chalk up the physical similarities to coincidence. "Thank you for that. Most people don't have Legend popping over to say hi."

"Not enough hours in the day to do that, much as I would enjoy it. If I may ask, the hospital staff didn't get your name, at least not when they called us."

"I… I haven't thought up a good one yet," he lied. He liked his name just fine, but he could not give it out without wrecking what was so far a perfectly pleasant conversation. The idea that there could be two capes with the same name and appearance running around in the same town was too much of a coincidence to overlook.

"Yes, I was lucky to get in on the cape scene early on before all the easy names were taken. I'm sure you'll find one you like soon enough.

"Unfortunately, I meant what I said about being here _mostly_ to welcome you. I also need to give you a warning." Oh no. "I'm sure the staff here are all good people, but if you make a habit of coming to the hospitals and healing people, eventually one of the gangs will hear about it and try to conscript you. I doubt they'll be gentle about it, either." He stretched out his hand. "If you ever feel like you're in danger, please don't try to handle it on your own or suffer in silence. Go to one of our bases. We can keep you safe."

Was Legend really offering a safe haven just like that? Or was it a recruitment pitch dressed up in concern? There was no way to tell, and despite having no great love for the Protectorate as a whole – there was a reason he had not joined their ranks when the rest of the Minor League was killed – he did not want to blindly assume the worst of _Legend_ of all people.

"Thank you," he said again, shaking the other hero's hand. "I hope I never have to take you up on that, but I appreciate the offer all the same."

Legend took off back into the sky, and Maclibuin walked back to the alley with a spring in his step. Tonight hadn't been a bad night. Not at all.

* * *

 **I try to be as accurate as possible when it comes to real places, but I couldn't find a good map for the layout of Kravis Hospital. Finding out where the PICU was located was difficult enough. You'll just have to cut me some slack this time around.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	138. Cloudy Skies 11-7

**Cloudy Skies 11.7**

 **Friday, July 1**

« _Mistress. Call from Dragon_.»

Your flight slows, and you descend to a nearby rooftop. "Patch her through."

" _Taylor, we need to talk,"_ Dragon asks when her screen appears. _"Do you have a minute?"_

Now you are glad you decided to brake for this. Flying around in broad daylight when you are en route to the mall is fairly risky by itself and invites random bystanders to witness your transformation, but that is why you were pushing yourself to just under the sound barrier. No one can track you at that speed, and honestly, flying that fast is just _fun_. What would not be fun, though is splattering yourself on a billboard, and that is what you risk with important phone calls.

"Sure. I was just off to meet some friends." One friend and one acquaintance, really, but you would rather not get into the mess that is your social life right now. "What's going on?"

" _I'm going to call Legend and Chief Director Costa Brown in a little bit and tell them about the Simurgh's death. I'm just not sure about telling them about Cassiel yet—"_

"Cassiel?" you ask. "You're still calling her that even though we know the truth about her?"

" _Yes. Even though she has a new body, I want to keep stressing that she is no longer the Simurgh. Giving her another name is one way to do that. Particularly while she is still off-balance."_ She looks around her as though to make sure Ziz is not sneaking up on her. _"Do you remember how dramatic I was the day I transferred into this body? Part of it was that I was excited, and understandably so, but part of it was that I was adjusting to the new emotion subroutines. They were different from what I was accustomed to, and so reactions were spilling out unintentionally. Ziz only had a rudimentary emulation of emotions, so now that she's in her new body she is feeling emotions much stronger than she ever has before, and some for the very first time. This is the best opportunity we will ever have for some subtle manipulation and cognitive reprogramming of our own._

" _Anyway,"_ Dragon continues as though she hadn't casually talked about Zizzing Ziz, _"I needed a cover story because I can't start off with turning an Endbringer into a fairy. Instead I did some thinking and remembered that you – well, Perfect Storm – submitted a document on the mechanics of telepathy. The story I plan to give them, at least at first, and that I will recommend they sell to the public, is that we and Shipwright were collaborating on a machine that would project a telepathic white noise of sorts from a distance. Something I could park at the edge of the battleground where it would be too far away for her to casually destroy it but close enough to cover an entire town. We were still calibrating it and fired it into the sky, and lo and behold, it was right where the Simurgh was flying on her normal orbit. The underlying idea is that because it was designed to mute her Scream, when it hit her directly it scrambled her brain and killed her."_

That… isn't a terrible cover. There is just one glaring problem. "So we surprise attacked the greatest precog in the world."

" _Our signal was her perfect opposite. She couldn't foresee it."_

"I don't know. The part about catching her by surprise still doesn't sound believable. Won't they want better proof?"

Dragon nodded. _"Which is why I plan to salvage her body from the ocean. It isn't all that far from shore, so we can pull it out fairly easily. I talked with the same captain with whom I arranged our expedition to the Agharti, and he is willing to let me use his ship again, although he doesn't know what we are after. We might be ready as early as next week. The body should serve as sufficient proof for now. I wanted to get your thoughts on the cover story, though, since you will play a role in it."_

That is a better story overall than you would have come up with, even if you aren't sure how Legend and the Chief Director will take the precognitive part. You give her a nod. "That sounds okay, I guess. I will probably need to defer any technical questions to you or Tim, though."

" _That is fine. This isn't necessarily a permanent story, but we need to start the process of dismantling a lot of procedures and directives regarding the Simurgh's activities. That and figure out how we are going to sell turning Madison and Brockton Bay into Woodstock for a couple of weeks."_ She shook her head and dropped her thoughtful frown. _"That's all I really wanted to talk to you about. Have a good time with your friends."_

You close the blank screen and pull up a clock. You were going to be early to your meet-up with Kayleigh and Laura anyway, so you still have time. In fact, you are early enough that you drop into the alley beneath you and dismiss your Barrier Jacket. It is a nice day for a walk.

The text you receive on your way directs you to the food court, and eventually you spot the other girls at a table near the edge. Kayleigh's smile suggests she has already had a good morning shopping, and the multitude of bags at their feet confirm it.

If the tired scowl Laura wears is any indication, she is not nearly as much a fan of the activity as your mutual friend.

"Taylor! Taylor Taylor Taylor, you wouldn't _believe_ what we found already! You know Teen Dreams Forever, that clothing place on the far end? They're going out of business, and everything in the store is on clearance. Twenty percent off _everything_!"

"I think you tried on everything in the store, too," Laura muttered.

You snicker at her expression, and she moves her glare to you. Your amusement is short-lived, however, when Kayleigh's expression changes from gleeful to predatory. " _Actually_ , I saw a few things in there that would fit you perfectly. I got a good estimate of your size with what you wore to Greg's party, and these are right up your alley."

Right up your…? Does she mean those latex pants Samantha forced you to wear?! "No. Kayleigh, _no_."

"Don't be a sourpuss. You'd look great in them. Don't you think so?" she asked Laura, nudging the older girl in the ribs when she got no response.

"Leave me out of this."

Kayleigh held up one hand and stage-whispered, "Don't believe her. She says she doesn't care about fashion, but if you watch her eyes, she definitely appreciates it."

You excuse yourself to grab something to eat, and when you return they have made some space under the table so your long legs will not be quite as cramped. "Laura," you say once you've swallowed the first bite of your burger, "I have a… 'work' question for you, if you don't mind."

This obviously piques her curiosity. Kayleigh, on the other hand, does not seem as pleased with it. The girl behind Cailleach's mask gestures for you to continue.

"A few nights ago, I was out with… Chevy—" Laura snickers at you, and you roll your eyes. How else are you supposed to disguise Chevalier's name so no one casually listening in will figure it out? "—and I thought I spotted you running around. Thing is, you didn't look like you were out causing trouble like you normally do. You were just walking around. If I didn't know better, I would have thought you were…" You mouth the words _'on patrol'_ to her, and she nods. Message received. "I was curious what was going on."

"Your first thought was right. Remember what we talked about once, about getting what you pay for?" She munches on a fry when you nod. It was something she had said during your birthday party at Kayleigh's house, that the protection money Winter Hill collected from businesses in their territory was not racketeering but bought them actual protection from other villains. "They paid. We provide. I may not do everything the 'proper' way, but I'm not afraid to put my money where my mouth is."

"So does everyone do that, or just you?" you ask. The way she phrased that last bit makes you wonder.

She opens her mouth and closes it, then she shrugs. "I'm enough all on my own most of the time."

"And that's enough 'work talk' out of both of you," Kayleigh interrupts. "I swear, Taylor, you're as bad with getting your switch stuck as she is."

"My switch stuck?" That is a new one.

"Mm-hmm. I noticed a while back that if Laura works too much, like what she's been doing lately," she adds with a scolding look to the blue-haired girl, "it's like she forgets how to be a regular teenager. You can devote your life to work once you're old and boring, but right now we're in high school, and you and I both know your mom isn't going to take no for an answer when it comes to you going off to college. You'll be in your senior year in a couple of months."

"We've been busy, okay? There's always a lot to do when a competitor goes out of business. Anyway, I already told Mom I'll probably just go to community college or something."

This is the kind of gossip you find interesting, probably because it has nothing to do with high school romances and fashion and instead is what young capes like you do when it comes time to move on in life. Something Laura said jumps out to you, though. "Your mom wants you to go to college, but what about your dad? Is college not a big deal for him?"

"It's more like he works enough that he has no room to criticize me if I focus on that instead of school," she replies.

Kayleigh reaches over and bops her on the nose with a finger, earning a glare from the villainess. "What about you, Taylor? Are you already thinking about what you want to do?"

"Some. Mom was an English professor, so I know she would have wanted me to go to college, and Dad—" Your heart squeezes painfully. "Anyway, I pretty much don't have the option to not go. As for what I'll do once I'm there, I don't know. Computers and programming are pretty interesting, so I may focus on that, but I also thought about minoring or maybe even majoring in forensics." And with Perfect Storm doing the heavy computing, referencing all the national databases would be a breeze. "Drexel University would be great, but it's also really competitive, so I don't know."

Honestly, you're just glad that Brockton Bay's quarantine means Winterrose Academy has none of your records from Winslow, and that means that only your GPA and test scores now that you live in Philadelphia will go out with your college applications.

"Ooh, I was thinking about going there too! That's my dad's alma mater. He says he could talk to some people and get me in guaranteed, but I'm trying to get in on my own first. Besides, I can probably get a scholarship for my shooting, which is great because my grades by themselves?" She wiggles one hand.

"Shooting? Like with a camera?" You had no idea she was into photography. At least, she probably means photography. That's the only thing that makes sense, because the only other option you can think of is—

"No, silly. Guns. One of Daddy's clients invited him out to a gun range when I was little, and since it was on short notice and Mom was out of town for something, I think maybe it was her sister's baby shower, he had to bring me along. One of the instructors took me aside and taught me how to shoot an old revolver, and after that I basically grew up on the range. Pistols, rifles, shotguns; if it has a trigger, I've probably shot it before."

"She took second place in the state for sharpshooting last year," Laura tosses out, finishing her own burger now that she is no longer the center of attention.

Kayleigh pouts at her. "You don't have to bring that up. The guy who got first place was an eighth of an inch closer to dead center with one of his shots than mine, but I had the tighter grouping. I think the judges just didn't want to give the first place trophy to a _girl_."

Normally you would feel sympathetic for her plight, but right now you are still feeling mildly terrified at the idea of Kayleigh, a girl with all the energy and exuberance of a puppy, sitting behind a sniper rifle.

"You know perfectly well that even if you don't get a scholarship, your dad would pay for everything without a second thought," interrupts Laura.

"That's not the point. It's the principle of the thing! Although speaking of paying for stuff, we may be going on vacation to Florida in a few weeks. Daddy said he already got the okay from your mom. If you want to join us, Taylor, say the word. We can make space for you and Samantha."

The offer is touching, but you can't help but think of the difficulties. Most of which involve the fact that knowing Samantha, she will probably think it a grand joke to strut about in a bikini, but that creates a problem with having her tail on display. "I'll have to think about it. Maybe ask again when you know if you're actually going or not."

She looks down. "We won't know that for a while."

"It's almost time for another Endbringer attack," Laura explains, "and going off the pattern, it will probably be Leviathan. The chances of it attacking Florida are low, but Mr. Stevens is pretty cautious when it comes to a lot of stuff. He won't be reckless with an Endbringer of all things. Besides, this happened a couple of years ago, and most of the resorts still had lots of suites available because no one was going to book in advance when there was a chance their vacation would turn into running for their lives."

"Enough depressing talk!" Kayleigh says, cutting off the admittedly dark conversation. "We're here to go shopping and have fun."

Laura scoffs. "Those two things are mutually exclusive, you know."

"Hush, you. You know there are things you like shopping for. You just refuse to admit it, but I know you better than that. Besides, I focused on you this morning already. It's Taylor's turn to be my dress up doll."

"Wait, what?" you ask. Walking around and maybe trying something on here and there, okay, but this sounds like a whole different prospect.

"Your wardrobe is all wrong. You'd be a looker if you let yourself be. We just need to get you there, and the first step to getting you comfortable in your own skin is putting you in something that complements it."

« _Agreement. Mistress not unattractive by Earth Bet or Galean standards,_ » Perfect Storm chimes in unnecessarily.

"That's… But… I don't have the money to change all my clothes even if I wanted to, and I'm not going to let you buy it for me!" You probably do have money from your dad's cut of the Privateers' income, come to think of it, but Kayleigh doesn't need to know that!

Kayleigh sighs and hops out of her chair to sling her arm around your neck. "We don't have to change _everything_ all at once. Rome wasn't built in a day. And you can even have ultimate veto power. If you absolutely don't like something, I'm not going to twist your arm into getting it.

"But honestly? I like to think I know my way around fashion, and I'm pretty sure I won't need to twist your arm into getting a few things once you see how they look on you."

* * *

 **And out before I need to write any details about teenagers on a shopping spree.**

 **When the players were voting on activities for this week in-game, someone (and I forget who) made a mention that they needed to chill out after everything that had happened. Considering they had no idea about the Ziz interrupt, I found that** _ **way**_ **funnier than I should have.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	139. Cloudy Skies 11-s

**Cloudy Skies 11.s**

 **Saturday, July 2**

"Understood, Console. Thanks for the heads up."

Sarah flipped her phone shut and flopped backwards onto her couch. "Yay," she muttered to herself. "Another night on call. Guess I'll have to push that hot date back."

She snorted at her own joke. Hot date? She wished. The closest thing she had had to a 'hot date' for the last three years had been sex with Felix Swoop, and that had been half frustration and half in hopes he would help get out of the fifth tier in the Adepts. That never happened, obviously, but after dropping out of their group and returning to the Protectorate, she knew dating other heroes wasn't in the cards. She was damaged goods, after all. Standstill the traitor. The people she had been the closest to were the ones holding themselves the farthest away, not that she could blame them. She had not exactly told anyone about her defection. Just a paper-thin lie to hide the fact she had gone off chasing a daydream again—

Cutting off her spiraling train of thought, she closed her eyes and took several slow, deep breaths. Her anger – irritation, really – slowly washed away with her breathing. Out of everything she had learned from her time with the Adepts, she had to admit that the meditation exercises Epoch had drilled into her were probably the most useful. That and telepathy, which she now used to keep in touch with Maclibuin more than anything else.

She had thought about revealing her new talent to the Protectorate on her return, but it was a good thing she had not. Talking directly into other people's heads? That was a surefire way to get a Master rating, and she had enough trouble getting her old friends to trust her as it was. Not to mention, her ability had ultimately turned out to be pretty weak. It wasn't like she could serve as a portable Console and link everybody up.

When Calamity Witch and her entourage had shown up to teach them a few tricks and completely rewrite Maclibuin's powers, she seriously considered asking for tips on how to better leverage that ability, but in the end that wasn't what she chose. It probably would have been more sensible, but she had other priorities on her mind.

 _Meow_.

"Hey, Missus. Coming to check up on me, are you?" She turned her head to find her old black cat nuzzling her wrist right under the studded leather bracelet Maclibuin had enchanted for her the same day as their lessons. Another secret she was keeping, but this one was for her own safety rather than personal comfort. If anyone found out she had a charm that let her regenerate, they would insist she go out in the field and fight hand to hand, which was where she sucked the most. They wouldn't care that this bracelet was one use only, either. Everyone knew magic wasn't real, so that couldn't be the reason she was suddenly able to heal herself.

Scooping up Missus Meow, she hugged the kitty close. Missus didn't seem to mind and instead purred lightly. She had gotten more clingy over the last few months, changing from a four-legged extinction event for the local pigeons and rats who would sometimes deign to be petted to a perpetual cuddle monster. Not that it was a complete surprise.

Even cats apparently wanted somebody to be with them when they reached the end of their lives.

This was the reason she had agreed so readily when Samantha had offered to teach her about creating a familiar. Sorry, a 'Guardian Beast'; the raccoon woman had been super touchy about that distinction. Missus had been on her mind for a couple of days before that, ever since the vet had called her to tell her that the labs they had run all came back pointing to feline leukemia. And when Samantha said that the ritual would remove any illness or injury, that it had even brought her back from the brink of death? It had seemed like the answer to all her problems. Missus would be healthy again, she'd have a close companion who would never leave, and she'd have a teammate to cover her when her power put her to sleep. It was all perfect!

So why hadn't she gone through with it yet?

She looked down at the cat she had gotten as a kitten back when she was a mere six years old. She was hesitant because Samantha had scared her. The other heroine had been full of warnings about how for the first few weeks a new Guardian Beast would want to be near her all the time to protect her and how if she changed her mind later there was no way to undo the ritual except through the Guardian Beast's death. It was a hefty responsibility, and in the privacy of her own mind she had to admit that she had come to hate responsibility. Responsibility meant other people depended on her. It meant it was her fault when shit hit the fan. She had gotten more than a few tastes of it as she advanced in the Wards, and those tastes scared her.

In the Adepts, she had been relieved of responsibility, and it had been _glorious_.

"But I'd be responsible for you, wouldn't I? More than just making sure you had food and water and checking that you hadn't gotten run over. You'd depend on me to show you how to be a person and how to be a hero." She ran her fingers through Missus's fur before whispering, "You wouldn't hold it against me if I changed you, would you?"

Missus tilted her head and gave Sarah's nose a rough lick.

Her heart broke a little more, and that was the final straw. She sat up and held Missus firmly in her lap. If this did turn out to be a mistake, at least Missus would be able to tell Sarah herself.

Her deep breaths now held purpose, and she felt something quicken in her blood. The edges of her body flickered with pink light as she envisioned the diagram Samantha forced her to memorize. It wasn't the most reliable of the possible ritual forms – unreliable in that she would have basically no control over what came out the other side – but it was the simplest. She never would have been able to remember the more complicated designs. The words of the ritual, Samantha had said, were not as important as the intent behind them, but they helped to focus that will and intent to do the impossible and rewrite another creature's genetic code to transform them into something on the same level but standing a little to the side of human. It was tricky, especially without a Device like those Calamity Witch and Maclibuin had, but it was doable if she invested her whole heart into it.

"Blood for blood, mana for mana," she said, coming up with the words on the fly. The design had come with a standardized incantation, but she did not want some cookie cutter spell. She wanted something personal, something meaningful. "Two lives entwined. Experiences shared. I call you to rise, to join for the rest of our lives as sisters and friends."

Missus Meow looked up at her with those big green eyes, and Sarah could almost believe that the kitty understood what was going on.

"Let us be together forever, with only death to part us."

Missus Meow exploded into light like a bright pink sun. Nothing else in the apartment was visible through the glow. Then an impossibly heavy weight fell on her lab, and the couch cracked and collapsed.

"Ugh! Ow! Get off!" She shoved her hands into a warm, thick coat and tried to force the now _much_ larger cat off her, but she could not get Missus to budge. Pulling herself up, she looked down and into newly golden eyes she would have preferred never to meet outside of a zoo with bars between them.

The tiger stared back and licked its lips.

Sarah thought she might pass out, something she had no experience with outside of using her powers, but before her terror hit her that hard the tiger rippled and shrank. What was left when the rippling stopped was an Indian woman about the same age as Sarah herself leaning over her. The woman's eyes were the same gold as the tiger's. So was the lack of clothing.

"…I suppose I can't call you Missus Meow anymore, can I?"

The woman grinned at that, and movement from above her head distracted Sarah and pulled her attention to the two black cat ears sitting on top of her head. "That would sure get you some strange looks." The woman moved away to stand on her own. Sarah, curious about just what she had gotten herself into, glanced up and down.

Samantha, for all that she was the very first Guardian Beast on Earth in who knew how long, was not all that distinctive in her appearance. The ears and tail could be hidden with clothing, and once that was done she would be unremarkable. Not unlike Calamity Witch, who underneath that costume probably looked like a perfectly normal teen.

Her Guardian Beast, on the other hand? She was going to stand out no matter what. The cat ears were not even the main reason. Pink streaks were scattered liberally and asymmetrically in her black hair, and she had tattoos of black tiger stripes running down the dark brown skin of her arms and legs and, as she revealed when she twirled around, all down her back as well. Another look at her smile showed that some of her teeth had been filed to give her more of an animalistic look, which actually made her look less inhuman rather than more. It gave almost everything else unusual about her a degree of deliberateness. She would be someone who stood out, but she could also be dismissed as someone seeking attention rather than being worthy of attention all on her own.

Considering how many people derided Sarah's own fashion choices, she could work with this.

"We need to get you some clothes," she said after a beat. "Clothes and a name."

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

It took three days before Sarah and her Guardian Beast were ready to make their grand entrance. Most of that time was spent getting the costume just right. Stripped down boxing speed gloves with screws poking out at the knuckles, a camisole, cargo pants, heavy boots, and a domino mask; it all looked tacky and amateurish, but that was the point. They had decided to go with the idea that Cat was a new cape, and new capes weren't known for elaborate costumes. Particularly not Brutes, who honestly could walk out and start fighting crime right after their Trigger Events.

When she said _they_ had decided on this, what she actually meant was that she had decided. Cat, after listening to the various options, had told Sarah that she didn't care what she looked like or what the backstory she used was as long as she got to punch some people in the face.

Leading Cat through the back entrance, she hit the button that would send the elevator up to the floor with Legend's office. "Remember the story?" she asked one last time.

"Yeah, yeah. I remember the story," Cat said, picking a bit of dirt or something out from under a long black fingernail. "New cape, ran into you my first night out, want to join the Protectorate to fight for love and justice and all that jazz. Tough and strong, Brute, ears come with my powers."

Standstill rolled her eyes. "And if he asks for a non-cape name?"

"None of his business."

"No," she corrected with a sigh. "You want to leave your old life behind, and a new identity is the one thing they need to give you if they want you to join up. Legend's a good guy. As long as you make it sound like you want a fresh start and to cut yourself off from bad influences in your past, he'll make it happen." If she hadn't been quite so vocal about trying to help Epoch and Maclibuin when the Adepts as a whole fell apart, she would probably be in a better position than she currently was.

The elevator dinged, and they stepped out. "Hey Peggy," she said with a wave to the masked woman at the desk. She had always liked Legend's secretary, even if she still wasn't sure after four years if Peggy was a cape or not. "The boss busy?"

"He's in the middle of spanking – sorry, _educating_ – one of the problem children."

She leaned around the corner to peek into the room. The metal mask and the wannabe Batman cape meant it could only be Shadow Stalker, queen bitch from Brockton Bay. "Wasn't she here for a disciplinary meeting already this week?"

"Yep. Two, in fact." Peggy shook her head. "I keep telling him he's being too soft on her. She'd be better off in Anchorage or Freedom, but he keeps trying to reform her. Just you watch, though," she added with a sly smile. "Eventually he's going to lose his patience and ship her off to L.A. I wish I could be there when she learns what _Alexandria_ does to little pissants like her."

That was just one of the reasons she liked Peggy. She was always so eager to gossip, at least to people she liked in return.

Legend was obviously winding down his lecture, and Shadow Stalker stomped out of the room and slammed the door behind her. Standstill did her best to keep her amusement hidden, but she must not have done a great job of it. "What are you smirking at?" Shadow Stalker demanded with all the prickliness of a PMSing hedgehog.

"Nothing important."

That did not go over the head of the probationary Ward, and Standstill sighed internally when she heard Peggy's tsk. She knew what the other woman was thinking. She was the adult, the Protectorate hero; she shouldn't engage a Ward in a war of insults. It was just that Shadow Stalker made it so easy to do so without feeling guilty afterwards.

"You still think you're hot shit, huh? You're no hero. You're just a backstabbing cunt—"

Whatever else Shadow Stalker planned to say was cut off when she slammed into the glass wall near Legend's 'flier entrance', the glass cracking in a spiderweb pattern.

Peggy was staring, and Standstill could not help but watch out of the corner of her eye as Cat lowered her leg. She had sparred with her Guardian Beast a couple of times to get an idea of her abilities, but she did not remember Cat being that _fast_. « _Were you holding back when we sparred?_ » she asked, remembering at the last minute to lower her mental volume down to a conversational level. Unlike with Maclibuin or the other Adepts, she did not have to shout for Cat to hear her, particularly when they were standing right next to each other.

« _Uh, duh? I didn't want to hurt you on accident._ »

Before she could get onto her Guardian Beast for holding back when she had told her specifically not to do so, Legend opened the door and took in the scene. "What happened?" he asked in a no-nonsense tone.

"Just trying to be helpful," Cat said, drowning out Standstill's attempt to explain how this wasn't exactly what it looked like. She waved at Shadow Stalker, who was still on the ground and now had her mask off to reveal puke dripping off her face and pooling on the floor. "Sounded like somebody forgot to take out the trash."

« _Not. Helping._ »

Legend pursed his lips and looked at Shadow Stalker again. "Peggy, can you call for someone to help Stalker to the infirmary? Standstill, you and your friend get in here."

She and Cat followed him into his office and watched him settle himself behind his desk. His eyes trailed up and down Cat for a few seconds before returning to her. "Who is she?"

"Sir, this is Cat Sith. I ran into her a couple of days ago on my way back from patrol, and—"

"Cut the crap." She blinked at him in shock. Yes, it was a load of crap, but how could he know that already? "I may make mistakes, and I miss things, but I'm not an idiot. She was created through magic, wasn't she?"

Her mouth fell open. How in the world did he…? Just how?!

"That was quick," commented Cat without a care in the world.

"It helps that I have enough information to make the right assumptions," he said, tapping his fingertips on the desk. "Epoch approached a cape named Calamity Witch about teaching the Adepts how to use magic more efficiently. She didn't accept or decline last I heard, but then a few weeks later the Adepts fell apart and you came back with another ex-hero in tow while everyone else turned on them. I thought at the time you broke up because she started giving classes and things went south, perhaps that none of you had magic after all, but now you come in with a new cape with animal features. Exactly like Calamity Witch's partner, Samantha." He shook his head. "I can put clues together when they're right in front of my face."

"I… guess you know pretty much everything, then," she said as she tried to make sense of these revelations. Legend had known about magic for that long? He had never said anything!

"Not everything," he disagreed. "I don't know where you actually got her, for instance, though I highly doubt you found her wandering the streets."

She might as well come clean, she decided. No point in lying, especially when at this rate he could very well know about Guardian Beasts already and was waiting to see if she told the truth this time or tried to spin another story. "I made her. That was the spell Calamity Witch and Samantha taught me. My magic isn't strong enough to do anything else besides keep her going," she admitted with a grimace.

"You… made her? All by yourself?"

She nodded. "It wasn't all that hard, really. Just needs all the power upfront and to perform a ritual."

"I see." He rubbed his chin with one hand. "And do we need to expect all the other Adepts to create new capes on demand, too?"

"No sir. Epoch, Maclibuin, and I were the only ones to have magic. And Lilliput," she added, "but I don't know where he ran off to. I was the only one who wanted to learn how to create a Guardian Beast."

Legend leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together. "What did they want to learn?" he asked in a voice that was too innocent to be innocent.

Standstill hesitated. There were three options in front of her that she could see. First, say nothing. Second, lie. Both of these were easy, but would they last? Epoch and Maclibuin were alone; the Adepts were no more. When she was having lunch with them right before Calamity Witch's crew showed up out of the blue, Epoch had even admitted that he wasn't confident that he would be able or willing to create another group after the last one failed so horribly. Two capes on their own would not last long in New York City, where everything was bigger and stronger. Either the Protectorate would track them down, or another group would decide to brave Epoch's increased firepower and be strong enough to withstand it.

On the other hand, if she took the third option? If she told Legend the truth? She would have the opportunity to paint them in a better light, maybe even good enough that the Protectorate was willing to offer them a safe haven if things got that bad. Not to mention that it would be nice to have them around again. They were the only ones who seemed to trust her at their backs anymore, and neither of them were bad people in reality.

She would really like to ask Maclibuin his opinion on this, get permission to spill this secret just to make sure there would not be any hard feelings, but reaching out to him would take longer than she had and would reveal her telepathy.

She would have to risk it and hoped they forgave her.

"Epoch learned telekinesis and refined his Shooter spell and flight. He wanted to have more options than just time manipulation since there were so many gangs attacking them, and he and Mac had both been injured in the fighting. Mac actually asked for a Device like Calamity Witch's to turn himself into a healer. He said he was tired of fighting and hurting people."

Legend's hands had dropped at the end of her explanation, and he pierced her with a searching stare. "Did he change his costume, too? White coat and hood, white mask?"

"…They were grey the last time I saw him, but yeah? Why?"

"Because I think I ran into him a couple of nights ago. He went to a children's hospital in the middle of the night and volunteered to heal anyone the staff would allow him to visit."

She smiled. "Yeah, that sounds like Mac. He's a real sweet guy when you get to know him."

"I will have to keep that in mind," Legend said. "That still leaves us the question of what to do with you, Cat Sith. I take it those ears don't go away at all?"

Cat glanced up from picking her teeth with one nail. "Nope."

He sighed. "That makes things more difficult. If we can't hide those ears and tattoos, it will be all but impossible for you to maintain a civilian identity except as a legal fiction. It would be best if we separated the two of you either as capes or civilians—"

"Yeah, nah, that's not gonna work," Cat interrupted, finally taking interest in the conversation. "We're not splitting up."

"I don't think you understand what you're asking. If you stay together at all times, it will not take long for someone to link Standstill to Sarah. Both of you will be in danger from anyone bearing a grudge. I am not saying you can't work together in the field, but there needs to be some distance in one of your lives in the beginning until we figure out a better way to keep you safe."

"And I don't think _you_ understand, Rainbow Boy." Standstill turned to stare at Cat and her haughty expression. _Rainbow Boy_? "Standstill is mine. She stays with me. If you don't like it, let me transform and you can kiss my furry butt."

There was so much Standstill wanted to say to that, but one thing really stuck out. « _I'm_ yours _? I think you have that a little backwards. You were my pet before the ritual._ »

« _Oh, Sarah. You just keep telling yourself that._ »

Legend stared at her, obviously thrown off by such an insulting refusal. "We can table that for later, then," he finally said in an effort to be diplomatic. "You also need to talk to Public Relations before you go out on any patrols. Chambers runs a tight ship, and he has definite opinions about names and costumes—"

"Gonna have to pass on that, too."

He sighed and covered his face with one hand. "Why?" he finally asked.

"Standstill picked my name. Standstill picked my outfit. I'm not changing them on some bozo's say-so."

"I could keep you here at base while Standstill goes out on patrol, you know," he reminded her.

All that earned from a Cat was a snicker. "I'd love to see you try. But fine. You feel that strongly about my name? You can pick." Legend looked up, clearly sensing a trap even if it was still hidden. "Option one, Cat Sith."

Her tiger stripe tattoos glowed pink even through her clothes and grew. The parts of her body not lit up instead darkened, blurring her features in the deepening shadows. The effect took less than a second, and between one instant and the next Legend was out of his chair and shimmering as his powers kicked in.

"Option two?" she growled, her voice distorted and echoing. "I'm thinking Bengal." Her aura faded as quickly as it appeared, and she rocked back on her heels with her hands in her pockets. "Your choice."

Standstill shook her head in amazement. When she created Cat, she thought she would have to teach her how to be an independent person. Maybe _she_ was the one who really needed lessons.

Still, deliberately antagonizing Legend was not the brightest idea Cat could have. Far from it. « _Cat, you can't talk to him like that._ »

« _Why not?_ »

« _I told you who he is, right? He's_ Legend _. Head of the whole Protectorate. Our superboss. Any of this ringing a bell?_ »

« _Don't care._ » Standstill stared at her. She was pissing off one of the Triumvirate, and did not _care_? « _He isn't a cat. He isn't you. He doesn't matter._ »

"I have to admit, Cat Sith, there is a part of me that is tempted to ship you off to Houston so Bonesaw can figure out what makes you tick." That was uncharacteristically dark for Legend, and Standstill looked back and forth between them with rising worry. He sighed and drifted back down into his chair. "But that would be cruel and unusual punishment at the bare minimum, and I don't really want to give her a pseudo-Siberian to re-imprint on. You're both on Console duty until we can all figure out how to work together like adults."

Console duty? Literally the most boring job the was in the Protectorate? "Thanks, Cat," she muttered.

"Hmm? Oh, you're welcome." Cat turned back to Legend. "So Console means we go after criminals after work, right? I'm still kind of fuzzy on that."

With an audible groan, Legend dropped his face onto the desk.

* * *

 **Cat Sith was a lot of fun to write. :) She's so adorably blunt.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	140. Cloudy Skies 11-8

**replies**

* * *

 **Cloudy Skies 11.8**

 **Sunday, July 3**

Orange light fades away, and you start walking through the hallways of Dragon's sanctum. Knowing them, Dragon and Tim are probably in the middle of a new project, though how their schedules have changed with the addition of Ziz or Cassiel or whatever you're calling her now, you have no idea. Dragon was firmly set on keeping her out of a cage, so that isn't on the table, but where she is instead…?

You open a door and stop dead in your tracks at the music coming from within.

Dragon, in her new Unison Device body, is just shy of twelve inches tall. Cassiel is shorter at about ten. You never stopped to consider what that difference in size means when it comes to interacting with a human-scale world, which is why it is such a shock to see them both sitting in front of a laptop and treating it like their personal theater. Dragon is relaxed, leaning back on her hands with a couple of potato chips broken up into crumbs sitting on a doll-sized plate next to her. Cassiel, though, has her wings tightly wrapped around her, letting you just barely see the edge of the marshmallow she is nibbling on, and is utterly engrossed in whatever it is they are watching.

" _My babies!"_ a throaty voice says from the screen, and that startles a sound out of you.

Dragon hears it and looks over from the cartoon. « _Taylor! I didn't expect you to come by today._ »

« _I can tell,_ » you send back. The most likely reason Dragon has eschewed normal speech is to keep from disturbing the former Endbringer. « _Okay, I need an explanation for this. Is Ziz really sitting there watching a kid's movie and eating marshmallows?_ »

« _MarshmallOW. She's still on her first one, though considering the size of our stomach-analogues, I'm not quite sure how she's holding down as much of it as she ate already._ »

A small smile quirks your lips. « _Humans or fairies, I guess kids are always going to be bottomless pits. That doesn't explain why she's watching_ The Little Mermaid _and acting completely entranced_.»

« _Probably for the same reason little kids are. Remember what I said about her adjusting to her new emotion programming? Tim and I designed them to match what a nine- or ten-year-old girl should most likely feel, with enough wiggle room that a normal child's actual emotions would fit comfortably in them without disrupting her normal mental state. Cassiel, on the other hand, didn't bring any significant emotional data to the transfer, so now she is getting bombarded with the emotions of said child._ » Dragon shrugs. « _As for my choice in movies? Since I knew she would enjoy a cartoon, I looked for something that would fit our objectives. A movie about a girl who is transformed into a human and then chooses to stay that way because she is happier than when she was something else? That's the mindset I want her to absorb, not the_ 'you're perfect just the way you are' _lesson that a lot of other cartoons try to teach. We don't want her going back to acting like a miniature Simurgh._ »

…So _that's_ what Dragon meant by 'cognitive reprogramming'.

« _Anyway, what brings you here today? I thought you would be preparing for tomorrow._ »

« _I would be, but…_ » You speak up so you can be heard. "I need to take Cassiel and Tim to meet some people."

Cassiel makes a noise of vague acknowledgement, her eyes never leaving the screen.

"But I suppose it can wait until the credits," you add with a small shake of your head.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Once the movie is over and Tim has been fetched from the bowels of the workshop, you take hold of both their hands and throw yourself into the gap between worlds. They blink and look around at the strange woods you find yourself in. "Where are we?" Tim asks, looking up and down a tree with woolly bark. "Somewhere in Europe or South America? I wouldn't think this is what the Amazon looks like, but…"

"Unless South America possesses beasts such as that," Cassiel chimes in, pointing at a strange feathered creature, something that looks almost like a stretched-out turkey with a mouth full of teeth, that is currently chasing a rodent, "I do not believe we are on our Earth at all."

"You're right. We aren't. Tim, do you remember what I told you about the TSAB and how they were sending a team here? We're all going so I can introduce you. In part because I need to update them on the Endbringer situation," you add with a significant look at Cassiel.

She looks back at you for a moment before the dots connect. "Oh. …Am I going back in the box?"

You shake your head, and she seems to relax. The continued potency of that threat is impressive in its own way, though you think you understand why it holds such power. For an individual who gambled everything she was on a chance to avoid eternal boredom, being condemned to a featureless cell would be torture of the highest order. "You haven't done anything that would call for that yet. If you keep behaving, things will be alright." You tilt your head to look at her over the top of your glasses. "Only _bad girls_ go in the box. Get me?"

Her wings droop as that shot hits home. "Message received."

You teleported to Vancouver and then here in your normal clothes, but it is second nature to transform into your Barrier Jacket before taking to the sky, followed by Tim and Cassiel a few moments later. From above the treetops you can see the metallic bulk of the _Sojourner_ glimmering in the distance.

"Oh my god, it's a real starship," mutters Tim.

The ship is in a different place from where you remember it sitting, proof enough that the crew were able to get it to take off. As you get nearer, you see a few areas where slabs of metal and what you assume are tools have been pulled out so they can be worked with in the daylight. What the crew made with them is also in sight: little boats with mechanical contraptions in the back that are almost certainly there to send the boats cruising through the air. Transport for raw materials that cannot fit in their Devices' storage spaces, perhaps?

A figure steps out from under the red tarp covering the ship's hatch, and you give Erga an answering wave. "There's one of the guys we have to meet," you tell the others. "His name's Erga. He's in charge of the team here. His second-in-command is a woman named Lanster. Let me talk to him first before you come down."

You float down to the ground and give Erga the most innocent smile you can muster. All it earns from the Enforcer is an amused snort. "You know, I think I recognize that guy's Barrier Jacket. Saw pictures of it from Lanster's files. You're, uh, giving away the Assimilation Engine's templates now, are you?"

"I've only given out one. Tim is one of the people I ran into who had a Linker Core, and when I offered, he wanted the template that turned him into a Tinker."

"Uh huh." Erga looks back and forth between you and Tim a few times. "Dumb question, but I feel the need to ask it anyway. He still has his mind, like you? Didn't get brainwashed or anything?"

…At least he's asking. "No, he's still the same guy he was before I gave him powers."

"Okay. Okay." A wave calls Tim and Cassiel down, and proper introductions are exchanged. "And who's this little lady?" Erga asks, gesturing towards Cassiel. "Because she looks like a Unison Device, which is weird and wonderful. They're rare even on places like Midchilda. To find one of them out here in the middle of a low-magic world cluster? I didn't realize the Belkans got out this far."

"That's… one of the things I wanted to talk to you about."

With a raised eyebrow, Erga motions for you to follow him while he dictates a message to Lanster. You soon find yourself in the same conference room you had your last meeting in. A screen pops up over Erga's shoulder just before he sits down, showing the female Enforcer sitting in the open air with her hair pulled up in a ponytail and her hands wrist-deep in the guts of another feathered critter. _"Hey, Taylor. Sorry I can't be there in person, but as you can see, I'm stuck on kitchen duty today. What's… Is that a Unison Device? Where did you find her?"_

Looks like Cassiel is the place to start. "Do you two remember how we talked about the Simurgh, the Endbringer who was capable of driving people insane?" The Enforcers nod, and you jerk a thumb in her direction. "We kind of accidentally turned her into a fairy."

"…I feel like there are several steps you're glossing over," Erga says drolly.

Cassiel clears her throat. "Taylor, may I?"

A nod, and she gives the Enforcers a short summary of the deception she weaved around you, including how she pushed you and Tim to create a Unison Device for the little girl you thought you were saving. The commander of the Enforcers gives you and Tim a guarded look when that part of the story is done. "I have to admit, I'm not sure how comfortable I am with the idea of shoving a person into a Device. It's… extreme is one way to put it."

"It is, and it wasn't a decision we made lightly," Tim tells him. "The reason we went through with it in the first place is because based on the information we had, namely the strength of the cult she implied she was held by and the inability to locate them without risking turning ourselves into their puppets, we did not feel that we had any options that were more palatable. It was the least bad option."

" _Is she the first Unison Device you created?"_ Lanster asks.

You shake your head. "The second, though the first one was also a special case. We transferred an artificial intelligence from the server she was running on into a physical body. Just like Cassiel, it was at her request."

" _So you have never created one with its own inherent personality?"_

"Not… yet? Why is it such a big deal?"

Erga and Lanster exchange a look at Tim's question. _"No one knows how to create Unison Devices any longer. That knowledge was lost late in the Warring Ages with the fall of Belka or early on in the Saint King Unification War. There are a few theories about how they were designed, but considering the process involves creating sapient life, no one wants the moral responsibility of creating one that is defective in some way. If you have the plans and methods to design them, on the other hand, that would eliminate the need for experimentation."_

"It's definitely something the eggheads would be interested back home, though who knows how many more problems the ability to create sophonts on demand would create," mutters Erga. "Anyway, a question for our resident retired city-killer."

Cassiel frowns delicately at that description, her wings fluffing up in irritation.

"What _are_ you? You and the other Endbringers, I mean. Where did you come from, and why do you do what you do?"

She gathers herself up and spreads her wings in a manner that would have been menacing when she was still fifteen feet tall. As she is, she just looks silly. "The Endbringers as a group are constructs designed for the explicit purpose of killing humans and interfering with the workings of society. We were created by the source of parahuman powers on Earth, who came to this section of reality in order to seed it with their weapons and let human ingenuity refine those weapons. We act in the manner we do because that is the goal that makes up the core of ourselves, one of which I have now been freed. I do not have many more details than that."

" _Designed to kill humans?"_ Lanster repeats.

The fairy gives her a nod. "Correct. My brothers still operate under those directives. My development of sapience as an unintended consequence of my telepathy is the sole reason I could pursue the course of obtaining this body so as to circumvent my directives. The First and Second will continue on with their purpose until one of two things happens: either humanity is extinct, or they die."

You give Cassiel a strange look. The information itself is the same as what she told you when you first let her out of the box, but they way she is painting the picture is different. She is making killing the Endbringers sound more dire, if such a thing is possible. Was it because she wants them to be on board with fighting Behemoth and Leviathan?

Or considering her repeatedly stated fears, is it that she adjusted what she said to you, Samantha, Dragon, and Tim so she had the best chance of staying out of the box?

"Uh huh. And how does Scion play into all of this?"

You blink. "What? What does Scion have to do with the Endbringers?"

" _There were already too many factors connecting the Endbringers and parahuman powers together,"_ Lanster explains. _"From the description you gave of how powers appear, our initial suspicion was that they were the product of an Al Hazardan Lost Logia. The general trend for culture is that its remnants tend to be wish-granting devices of some kind. Exactly what the Endbringers were, we were not sure, but corrupted planetary defenders was not out of the question."_ You snort derisively at that idea. _"Yes, I know. We were not sure what their motivation was, and it made sense considering the other assumptions we had to make. Remnants from Al Hazard are rarely malevolent or intentionally destructive. Once we connected those things, we knew Scion was also involved somehow. We just weren't sure how. Based on the variety and strength of the abilities he wielded, we figured he was the individual who uncovered and activated that Lost Logia._

" _But now we are hearing that the Endbringers and powers in general were released for a more malign purpose. Scion is still involved somehow. We just don't know how."_

The fluttering of Cassiel's wings had stilled during that explanation. "Impressive," she finally whispers. "You are correct. The body named 'Scion' was the projected avatar of one of the alien entities that came to this world. It was not he who created us, but rather his partner. Both of them are dead now, our creator upon her crash-landing on a nearby world and him by what I believe to be self-termination. I have never been capable of predicting him or even tracing his actions with complete accuracy, so I can not say with certainty how or why he died. I only know that after his disappearance, the future no longer held the shadows of his presence."

" _Were there any others of these… power-granters?"_

"On this and nearby worlds, none to my knowledge. In existence, I have no doubt, but I know little more than I have already said about their species."

« _Do you believe her?_ » Erga voice rings in your head.

You give Cassiel a sidewise glance and then look back at the Enforcer, who appears just as relaxed and unconcerned as you have ever seen him. Laziness, then, might be his poker face. « _What she just told you matches up with what she told us. Whether it's true or not, I have no idea, but it's a hard story to believe. I think if she were lying she would have picked something easier to swallow._ »

« _The truth's always stranger than fiction, huh?_ » He leans back in his chair. "Hey, Lanster? What do you say about keeping all this new information off the official report? Lost Logia or not, these things still sound like bad enough news that we'll help all we can, but classifying them as Lost Logia gives us more leeway in what we do."

" _You want to lie on an official report?"_ Lanster's scowl only holds for a second or two before she rolls her eyes. _"I think it can slide this time. I don't like the idea of leaving the Endbringers active any more than you do. We will already be keeping our involvement in the fights on a need-to-know basis. What's one more secret?"_

That reminder makes you wince. "Yeah, about that…" The Enforcers look at you. "I know the last time we talked, you wanted to keep your presence on this world a secret, but I kind of had to tell one of the leaders of the Protectorate about you. Not you as in your team," you hurry to add, "but you as in the TSAB in general. It was actually before we ran into each other.

"I'm planning on reaching out to them and arranging a meeting to tell them more about magic in general since I… sort of taught one of their members how to create a Guardian Beast, and if I'm already talking about magic, it would be the best time to give them more information about you guys."

Lanster drops her face into her bloody hands. _"Oh, Sankt Kaiser…"_

"There are a number of questions I have with what you just said," chimes in Erga, "but let's focus on the big one. Why do they need to know anything more about us than what you've already told them?"

"You just said that you're still planning on helping out with fighting the Endbringers. It's not impossible for you to just jump in and go to town on whichever one pops up next, but it would be a lot easier if we start to coordinate some things beforehand, isn't it? I'm not saying the whole world should know about you, or even the whole Protectorate. But Legend is the head of the Protectorate. He and his old teammate Alexandria lead the Endbringer fights. If anyone needs to know that you exist and that you're going to show up to help out to try saving our world, it would be them."

Erga and Lanster share a silent conversation. "I can't say that I like this plan," he tells you. "I'm not normally one for following rules that don't make sense, but this one does. Introducing magic to a society without it and that isn't a single united world but a number of nations fighting each other all the time? It's happened before. It never ends well. You aren't a member of the TSAB, so I can't stop you short of tying you up and throwing you in the brig, which I'm not going to do. But you have to understand that what you're talking about doing is going to have far-reaching consequences. I don't know that Earth Bet is ready for them."

"Telling people about magic doesn't have to end badly, though," you argue. "Look at Tim! I told him about magic, even gave him a template, and he— Where is he?" you ask when you look around and find the Gadgeteer missing.

Erga startles as well, and Cassiel points behind her. "He went that way a couple of minutes ago."

"Why didn't you say anything?!"

"You talk amongst yourselves so I am unable to hear you a great deal whenever I am present. How was I to know you did not send him away?"

That is a good point that you really do not have time to deal with right now. "Storm, can you track him?"

" _Sextant located. Turn left in hallway. Fifth door on right. Second door on left. Down stairs."_

That is good enough. You follow the directions, the route actually somewhat familiar to you. You have been down this way before, the first time you were on this ship. Sure enough, you open the door at the bottom of the stairs to find Tim leaning against the railing of the ladder leading down to the ship's engines.

"There you are," you say, startling him out of his observations. "Why did you wander off?"

He gives you a nervous little chuckle, not helped by the Enforcer who followed you down here. "Um, well, you guys were talking about stuff that is way above my pay grade, and this is probably the only time I'm going to ever step foot on a real, honest to god _starship_. I had to explore. Just a little bit!"

With that little bit of drama out of the way, you and Tim are led out of the bowels of the ship with Cassiel in tow. You give Erga a short wave as the three of you take off. "Ready to go back home?"

"Actually…" Tim says, "could we stick around just for a second? I need to think about something."

"What?"

He opens and closes his mouth for a moment. "I don't know if you know, but my template comes with the rituals for a Guardian Beast, just like yours does. I haven't really touched it, though. I… well, I thought if I made one, it would be a fighter like Samantha. I mean, that's the obvious interpretation of _Guardian_ Beast, right?"

You suppose that would be the most basic conclusion, but you cannot say you really agree. Part of that has to do with the fact that you looked through the possible rituals when you were preparing to teach the Adepts their spells, which involved Samantha teaching Standstill how to create another of her kind. You seem to remember that there were a couple of noncombatant classes in Perfect Storm's memory banks.

"The thing is, when I was watching them work on the engines, I noticed a man with dog ears was with them. Unless the TSAB has another half-animal species running around, that had to be one of their own Guardian Beasts. I just… I didn't realize that they could be something else."

"Yeah, they can. I think there is even a class of Guardian Beast like the Gadgeteer—"

" _Guardian Beast of the Gear."_

"Thank you, Storm. The Gear. Anyway, they would work perfectly with you, don't you think?" He nods after a moment, and you continue in a teasing voice, "Should we stop at a pet store on the way back?"

"Maybe— No." Tim looks over at the woods where you originally appeared with a new light in his eyes. It is not one you fills you with confidence. "No. I have a better idea."

* * *

 **And thus began much shenanigans.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	141. Cloudy Skies 11-9

**pax-draconix:** Tim's animal has been seen on Earth before. Don't know why you'd think otherwise…

* * *

 **Cloudy Skies 11.9**

 **Monday, July 4**

The Fourth of July get-together the Dockworkers turned former Privateers chose to put on is, you have to admit, a smashing success. It is probably due in no small part to the fact that it is not just the Privateers who are here. When everyone settled in Philadelphia, not everyone stuck around past the first couple of weeks, instead deciding that a city with a working port meant regular jobs that did not involve getting in fights with villains. The schism within the Privateers about how to fight later led the non-murderous ones to get in touch with those old buddies of theirs in the search for regular work while the more aggressive guys almost all died to Fairyland's wrath.

When they decided to throw this little bash, they invited not just the team from Brockton Bay but also several of their new coworkers. The coworkers passed the word along, wives and kids got roped in, and now it is a substantial group that has overtaken basically the entire apartment building that Alexander and several other of the guys live in. It is a very good thing that this is a potluck-type party because otherwise you would feel sorry for whomever had to feed this horde.

Still, while it is successful on its own terms, you are not exactly excited to be here. Part of it is that you have no one your age to talk to; most of the kids that came were in the ten to twelve range, and the few guys who were eighteen and nineteen were dockworkers themselves and so were engaged in those conversations. The other part, and more honestly the larger part, is that even though you are more comfortable with adults than with fellow teenagers, you still have nothing to talk to them about. It is not as if anybody here was someone you could talk to about fighting crime, and Tim is the only other mage here. Samantha came with you but then promptly hid herself, citing her ears and tail as valid reasons why it was best she not be visible in human form and the kids as reason she was not about to risk herself in pet form.

Sighing, you toss your empty paper plate and wander through the crowd. There surely has to be something somewhere that can hold your attention.

At one point you spot Tim deep in conversation with another Brocktonite and looking distressed, and you send him a burst of telepathic curiosity. He glances over at you and shakes his head; whatever it is, he seems to have it under control. Instead you eventually find yourself in the kitchen, where Lacey and a few of the other men's wives are cleaning serving dishes and cooking utensils. Lacey is in the back, so instead of calling out and interrupting the other women's conversation you project, « _Need some help?_ »

She startles and looks around before she finally spots you. Whatever she says next is lost in the hubbub, and she instead waves at you to come over and join her. "I won't say no to another pair of hands," she tells you as she hands you a set of pans to wash. You dunk them into the sink full of soapy water and are already scrubbing them when she quietly adds, "I'm actually a little jealous you can do that."

"Telepathy?" She nods. "You can do it too, you know. You did it before, even if you were just whispering. You just need to work on sending it loud enough to be heard."

"And what happens if I do get to that point? I won't start spilling out all my thoughts to everyone around me, will I?"

« _Telepathy is intentional. I don't know if you can do it accidentally,_ » you state with a shake of your head. « _You have the first step down already. I told you before that telepathy is like speaking your thoughts to someone just without moving your mouth; well, when you don't have anything boosting your telepathy, it's more like trying to talk to someone on the other side of this room, with everyone still talking and drowning you out. It isn't just a matter of shouting, either. You have to_ _ **project**_ _your voice in that direction._

« _Of course, it is much easier with a Device helping out. It's been a while since we talked about it, but have you thought any more about whether you want one or not?_ »

"Some, now and again," she admits. "I'm just worried. If I take one, aren't I basically agreeing to go out and get into fights? Or sit around building stuff like Tim does? I don't want to do either of those."

"You aren't required to do anything, Lacey. You could get it and never once use it as anything besides a phone. Or you can do something else with it." You take another look at the people around you; no one seems to be eavesdropping, but that doesn't really matter if you start talking openly about magic in front of them. « _There are other things you could do with it besides fighting and building. There's a guy in New York we made a Device for, and that was so he could go out and heal people like Panacea used to do in Brockton Bay. Or like another hero we talked to, you could use it just to create a Guardian Beast like Samantha. Or use telekinesis to be the fastest bagger your manager has ever seen._ »

She gives you an unamused look at that comment, though her disapproval is ruined by the smile peeking out at the edges of her mouth. What is not so funny is the reality of Lacey and Kurt's finances. Even with him working on the docks again and her working as a cashier, you know from snippets of conversation Samantha overheard that they are still living primarily off the money Kurt obtained while the Privateers were active. Joining the Wards yourself would do little good, and Samantha refuses to leave your side in part because of the trouble that seems to follow you, but a third 'adult' who could earn money, potentially through the Protectorate? It is a possibility. « _At the very least, it would give you protection with a Barrier Jacket so if you got caught up in a carjacking or a mugging or something, you'd be safe until Samantha or I could get there. Philly isn't anything near as bad as Brockton Bay was, but bad things still happen._ »

"You two look like you're in a serious conversation," Tim says, walking up in the now mostly empty kitchen. "Anything us menfolk need to be worried about? Planning to take over the world or something?"

"Taylor's trying to sell me on the advantages of a Device. I'm not entirely convinced it's worth it," Lacey tells him.

He shrugs. "I can't speak for you, obviously, but I don't I regret it at all. It's a whole lot more interesting than trying to find money where there wasn't any or doing corporate taxes. Getting to work with Dragon of all people is also a—" The green watch at his wrist, which you are pretty sure he never had before, begins beeping. "—plus…"

This time it is Tim who looks around, and when he's sure that no one is watching – partly because you shift around to block anyone from seeing – he taps the face of Sextant's new standby form to pull up a video feed showing the frowning face of the very Tinker he mentioned. "Now's not a great time—"

" _Oh, is it not a good time? I'm_ _ **so sorry**_ _."_ Dragon's biting sarcasm catches both Tim and you off-guard. _"If you can spare me a moment, take a look at what I've been dealing with for the last_ _ **hour**_ _."_ She flips the feed around so it acts more like a video camera and points it to another part of the room. For a moment nothing happens, then with a screech one of the feathered critters Tim had you help him catch on the Enforcers' world runs around the corner. It flaps its wings and hops around, but no matter what it does it cannot dislodge the white fairy hanging on to the red feathers around its neck and back and giggling madly.

Someone snorts, and Lacey and Tim's looks at you tell you exactly who it was who did it.

" _I'm too small to catch one of these things, Tim, and I don't have Cassiel's telekinesis to make up for it. Pardon my language, but get your ass back here and fix this."_

The screen vanishes, leaving the three of you in silence.

"I, uh, I should probably—"

"Yeah, you might want to get over there now."

Tim gives you and Lacey a quick wave before he's not quite running – but certainly moving quickly – to the front door.

Lacey laughs and shakes her head. "Are they always like that?"

"Not normally. I think Dragon just finally reached the end of her tether."

"It sounds like you guys have a lot of fun, then." She gnaws on her lip for a couple of seconds. "If I do accept one of these Devices, I won't have to get into fights or anything?"

"I promise. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

She takes a long inhale. "Alright. If you make one for me, I'll take it."

 _If_ you make one for her. You keep yourself from rolling your eyes. You don't have anything else you had planned for the week, so rather than asking Tim to build her something, you might as well give her the Infinite Enhancement template. Perfect Storm recovered from making Tim's Gadgeteer template a while ago.

And you might as well get started on it now.

* * *

 **Thursday, July 7**

Cool air brushes over your wet, naked skin and wakes you up from a fever dream. You open your eyes and look over at the mostly dark inside of the Immortal Assimilation Engine's empowering chamber. You are pretty sure that isn't what it's actually called, but you don't know the name for this room that only appears to suck your Linker Core dry when you want to try making a template. Your everything hurts, which is unfortunately not a surprise considering last time, but you are not quite as worthless as you were the last time you went through this.

"Any problems?" you croak.

" _Negative,"_ the deep and emotionless voice of the Lost Logia replies. _"Device bearing Infinite Enhancement template created without complications."_

That's a plus, at least. "Can you dry me off and give me my clothes back before you dump me out on the floor this time?"

Someone, you assume either Samantha or Tim, was more forward-thinking than you were and laid out a thick blanket in front of the door so you have something besides the concrete floor to lay on while the Immortal Assimilation Engine folds back up into Perfect Storm. Even then, you still take a few more moments to try working out all your kinks as you stare up at the ceiling of Dragon's Vancouver base. This was the safest place to situate yourself when you are as vulnerable as template creation makes you, but as you go back over things you realize you might have forgotten to ask her if she had a problem with it. Most of that was because you did not want to bother her when she was still in a mood regarding Tim and Cassiel and his feathered dinosaurs – apparently those creatures were what velociraptors actually looked like, though they are nothing like what you have seen before in movies – but now that you're out and talking you should probably offer her an apology for monopolizing her space like that.

« _Storm, where are Tim and Dragon?_ »

Your Device points you in the direction of the main lab, and you slowly make your way over only to open the door and walk into a crowd. You are used to seeing Dragon and Tim on their own, but that is not the case now. Both of the Tinkers are present, but with them and being taken on what might be a tour of the lab are two tall, thin people in lab coats who are dogging Tim's heels as though afraid he is going to leave them on their own; from the long brown feathers on the woman's head and the short red feathers slicked back on the man's, not to mention the lack of any visible hair including eyebrows, you are mostly confident these must be Tim's brand new Guardian Beasts. Lacey is also here, surprisingly, sitting in a chair and talking to Vista, who has Cassiel sitting on her shoulder and chattering with the both of them.

Samantha, still in her normal raccoon form, looks up at your entrance and pads her way along the table to hop into your arms. « _Welcome back._ »

« _Good to be back. I hate going into that thing._ » You nod your head at everyone else in the room. « _Has it been this busy from the moment I went in, or is this a new thing?_ »

"Taylor, you're back!" Lacey says, now noticing you.

« _New thing. I brought Lacey here to get her Device, and Tim was already bringing Vista over to give her that new project of his._ »

The teleportation bracelet, that's right. You remember that he and Dragon had been talking about it for a while, that considering how much work he had done on Vista and how there was no predicting when he would need to do maintenance on her prosthetics it would be easier to make a beacon for her so she could signal their teleportation pad and come and go at her leisure. The fact that it gives her someplace to go when she is upset with the Protectorate's restrictions is a complication, but not one that should overshadow the convenience of having access to her 'doc' at a moment's notice when something goes wrong.

You give Lacey a wave and wander over. "I guess I kind of forgot to mention that becoming a mage comes with membership into our crazy circus, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," she says with a smile. "But it could be worse, I suppose. Is it finished, then?"

A flash of orange light deposits a violet crystal egg into your hand. "Catch."

The moment the egg completes its descent into her hands, her body breaks apart into a halo of purple light that finally fades to reveal her Barrier Jacket. Unlike your witch costume and Tim's basic lack of costume, Lacey's is vaguely Asiatic in theme. A purple cloth mask covers the lower half of her face and leads to a pastel robe with barely visible white designs running down the right side. The robe ends at her upper thighs to reveal white pants and white strappy sandals with wedge heels.

Lacey turns around and plays with the wide sleeves for a moment. "Well," she eventually says, "I guess no one is ever going to mistake me for myself, are they?"

" _I_ think you look good," Vista says in a tone that dares anyone to contradict her. "You'll need a name if you ever talk to the Protectorate, though. And…" She looks around at you and Tim and the Guardian Beasts. "And honestly, you guys need a team name."

"A team name?" asks Tim. "Why? We've been doing just fine without one so far."

"Yeah, but that when it was just you and Calamity Witch and Samantha. Now there are _six_ of you, not counting Dragon and Cassie. Three Tinkers, two face-punchers, and—" She looks over at the newest mage. "Um, what exactly are your powers now, Mrs. Weller?"

"I told you, just call me Lacey. I think this is supposed to give me more of a supportive role of some kind?" she asks, to which you nod.

"Okay, and a support cape. Six capes is a bunch, even if half of you are Tinkers. It's as many as the Philly Protectorate has until the new guy comes on board."

That is news to you. "New guy?"

"Yeah. I don't know much about him other than that he's a him, he's a Mover, and he'll be joining the Wards. Which means we have yet another person who sits around and won't be allowed to do anything," she adds with a darkening scowl. "Anyway, you have a big team now, and I bet Lacey can create a Guardian Beast of your own in the future, too, can't she?"

You nod.

"So jealous."

"It isn't all fun and games," Tim points out. "Especially with two of them. If you aren't strong enough, it puts a strain on your magic something fierce. It's a good thing I don't go around using spells that much, because I'm feeling it."

"Does it hurt?" you ask.

"More just it's really uncomfortable."

" _Mistress,"_ Perfect Storm chimes in, _"apologies for interruption. Message left by Legend two days ago requesting meeting. Reason unstated."_

"Ah," Dragon says quietly. "That reminds me that I need to build prototypes of the Dragon's Teeth armor. I have been meaning to do that, but retrofitting my previous suits for mana generation was taking up most of my time. I'll need to do that soon. Plus pulling the Simurgh's body out of the ocean."

"What?!" Vista and Lacey both shout.

While Dragon feeds the pair the same story of psychic lobotomization that she said she was giving the Protectorate, Samantha taps you on the shoulder and crooks her finger for you to follow her to a nearby window. "Thought you might want to see the kind of stuff Tim gets up to when you aren't here to supervise him," she says with a grin.

Supervise? You never supervise him. You wouldn't even know where to start— "What the hell is that?"

A short distance outside is a dome of… something. You can't tell what it is, but there is a clear delineation of a half-sphere where the inside just doesn't look right. It isn't until you look near the base and see swirls of dirt and sand that have somehow forgotten to fall to the ground that you realize what happened. "Did he… freeze time?"

"Technically it was Bakuda who figured out how to stop time," Tim says as he and his Guardian Beasts walk up behind you. "I was trying to figure out how it worked when I… maybe kind of armed it. We figured a controlled detonation was better than letting it go off here in the lab. On the plus side, I know how to reverse engineer it."

"You _want_ to build time-stopping bombs?" you can't help but ask.

"No no no. When I said reverse engineer, I meant back to first principles. I know how she managed to manipulate time, so now I can try applying the same process in different ways to do stuff like slow down or speed up time in more controlled circumstances. Theoretically, anyway," he adds.

That is not the strangest thing you have ever heard. You have a spell to slow down time all on your own, and you get the feeling that speeding it up is not beyond your capabilities. Still, the idea that he can do so and make it replicable brings in a whole new wrinkle. Especially since you 'rescued' a total of five of Bakuda's bombs from her base in Chicago. "Have you started analyzing the other bombs?"

"Not yet, but that's on the to do list. Which just keeps getting longer and longer," he grumbles. "I swear, it's like I can't get finished with something before I have more ideas for other stuff. Tinker's curse, I suppose, but at least it means I won't be out of a job for a long while."

* * *

 **Whew. You guys don't have the characters info sheets over here, but trust me, there was a lot that had to be updated with this chapter.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	142. Cloudy Skies 11-10

**Cloudy Skies 11.10**

 **Friday, July 8**

You – probably unnecessarily – straighten your hat again. "You sure you don't want me to call you during this meeting?"

"The main thing on my plate to present to the Protectorate is the Dragon Teeth armor, and I need to finalize these designs and send them to my assembly line before I make any announcements," Dragon says, her eyes not leaving the screens and schematics in front of her. "I should have it ready by next week, so I will speak to them at that time. I also have to hammer out the final details for the ship to haul up the Simurgh's body from the ocean. Then there are all the other things that habitually come up over the course of my day. You can handle talking to three capes by yourself."

This isn't just three capes, though. When Legend left you a message very politely and not at all demanding that you set up a meeting, the wording he had used had been specific. Not him. Not him and his second-in-command. This meeting was with the _Triumvirate_ proper. The fact that the address given to her was the Houston Protectorate base, Eidolon's turf before his partial retirement, removed any and all ambiguity that might have existed.

Seeing as how Dragon is clearly not going to be helpful, you pull up a clock screen and grimace. You don't have time to track down anyone else who might possibly be useful as backup in case you screw this up. "Ready, Sam?"

"Ready? I've _been_ ready." The raccoon-woman walks up and gives your shoulder a light squeeze. "You've talked to both Legend and Alexandria before without any trouble. This is the same thing."

You wish she was wrong, but something warns you that it isn't. Those conversations were with the capes separately, but this is with the Triumvirate as a whole. No matter what you do, you cannot help but imagine them sitting as a tribunal over your future, even if you are not a cape under their authority.

It is a nudge you get from Samantha this time, and you sigh before giving Perfect Storm the go-ahead. A few seconds later find you floating over the glass and steel dome of the local Protectorate base. A cape in overly tight spandex flies up to meet you, and after a moment you recognize the ball of obscene musculature as Strapping Lad, a cape you first met when you helped recapture the escaping inhabitants of your hometown. You can't help but remember that the two of you had not seen eye to eye on your conversion of Purity to hero-dom.

"Welcome to— You."

He remembers you, too. Fantastic. "Calamity Witch here for a meeting with Eidolon," you tell him with a tip of your hat. If you don't have anything nice to say, best to be polite and worry about the important parts of this meeting.

Strapping Lad is no happier about having to lead you into the base than you are at having him as your guide, but he wipes off the scowl that appeared when he recognized you and motions for you to follow him inside. Through the twists and turns of the base you go, until finally you stop in front of a wooden door with a brass plaque that reads simply 'Briefing Room'. He knocks twice before opening the door. "She's here," is all he says.

"Thank you, Strapping Lad," answers a familiar voice. "Please send her in."

You and Samantha step inside to find all three living founders of the Protectorate sitting together and waiting for you. Legend sits on the far side of a long table, with Alexandria at his left hand and Eidolon at his right. The leader of the national Protectorate gives you a warm smile, and you nod back before pulling out the chair directly across from him. Samantha, rather than taking a seat, positions herself behind and just to the right of your chair.

« _You can sit down, you know._ »

« _This is your show, Taylor. I'm here as your protection detail, not a full partner._ » She sends you the telepathic equivalent of a smile. « _Now that you're playing with the big kids, you need to be ready to stand on your own two feet and defend your position. I'll always be here for you, but I'm not taking charge of everything. That's what it means to be a Guardian Beast._ »

"Welcome to Houston," Legend says, oblivious to your silent conversation. "I'm glad you could make the time to meet with us. We have a number of things we would like to speak to you about."

You nod again. "Not a problem. I needed to talk to you about a few things, myself, so the timing was actually very convenient."

"Oh?" prompts Alexandria. "Are we to assume, then, that this is something besides the surprise result of your and Dragon's experiment? She already informed us that she is confident you managed to eliminate the Simurgh."

Eidolon's face is hidden behind the green light and shadows of his hood, but his soft scoff gives you a good idea of what his expression would be if you could see it. " _I'm_ not confident in that. Not until someone can produce a body, and maybe not even then. This is the Simurgh we're talking about."

You aren't sure what to say to that, especially in light of what Cassiel said about the true strategy behind her attacks and the new form she has, so for the moment you decide it is best to ignore his pessimism. "I had a meeting with the Enforcers—" You stop mid-sentence and turn back to Alexandria. "I know I talked to you about the TSAB, but did you…?"

"Fill us in regarding the interdimensional navy you have been in touch with?" cut in Legend in a droll voice. "She did."

Your smile is sheepish. "Okay. Just making sure. Anyway, I met with the team they sent on Sunday, and I wanted to extend an offer they made."

Because that sounds a whole lot better than the truth, which is that the Enforcers would prefer to help out with the Endbringers on the sly and you're telling the Triumvirate about it despite their wishes. The cat is already out of the bag about the TSAB, so you might as well make sure everything _else_ goes off without at hitch.

"You said they were after an artifact they lost on our planet," Alexandria says. "Does that tie in to this offer of theirs?"

"No, thankfully. The artifact in question is no longer an issue, and everyone is confident that it won't cause any more problems." You are confident about that, anyway, and the Enforcers are confident enough that they aren't trying to separate you from Perfect Storm. "Do you remember how I said that Dragon and I sent them information about the Endbringers? After going through that and gathering more information here on Earth, they want to help. Disasters that threaten to wipe out humanity are the kinds of threats they consider to be within their jurisdiction. They plan to be at the next Endbringer fight and masquerade themselves as Tinkers so no one panics at their sudden arrival."

Throughout your speech, Alexandria's expression has become increasingly flat, and now she no longer appears to be looking at you if the blank stare is any indication. Her focus is instead on something else. You aren't sure why your news is met by distraction rather than jubilation, but something seems to be bothering her.

"And what have they said they plan to do if they can kill the Endbringers?" asks Eidolon. "Do they intend to civilize the poor barbarians, or are they going to be more subtle about their invasion than that?"

 _Great_. He's just like your dad was, immediately assuming that the TSAB is an invading empire intent on enslaving all life they run across. "From everything they've said and done, they plan to go back home. Not that it's a surprise. We don't have anything they want in the first place, and they have their own rules they need to follow."

"I'm sure they told you that themselves, too." Legend puts his hand on Eidolon's elbow only to have it shrugged off. "You have no idea what they actually want or plan, and you're assuming they've actually told you the entire truth. This is an issue that should have been dealt with by people who know what they are doing, not children playing at being adults."

You bristle at both his condescending tone as well as his implication. You've done a hell of a lot better than most people would have if they had this dropped in their lap. More, why would he out of everyone you have dealt with be the one person to guess your actual age—

 _Fucking Chevalier_. You told him last week that you were sixteen, when you went on patrol with him. You did it to bolster your argument that age was no predictor of talent, and while you did not tell him specifically to keep in confidence, that was the obvious implication. The fact that Eidolon knows means he did _not_ keep his mouth shut and instead had to have put that fact in some organization-wide database!

« _Calm down_ ,» Samantha orders. « _These are not the people to mouth off to in anger. You need to keep a cool head right now._ »

Cool head. Right. That doesn't mean you have to let Eidolon get the last word, though, as petty as it may be. You take a deep breath and let it out. "If you are going to judge me, do me the basic courtesy of judging me on my achievements and my ability, not your assumptions and baseless cynicism."

"I think this is something we will all have to consider the implications of," Legend says, though his eyes are focused on Eidolon. Only once the most famous Trump ever huffs and leans back in his chair does he turn back to you. "I would like to speak with these Enforcers myself at some point so I can verify their peaceful intentions, but that will likely have to wait. Unless you can ask them to come meet us here and now?"

You shake your head. Considering they did not want you telling the Triumvirate this much, asking them to hash everything out now is not going to happen.

"Then this is something we will have to table for the moment. Our other order of business, Calamity Witch, is a pair of conversations I had last week. One was with Standstill and her new 'Guardian Beast', Cat Sith."

"I wondered when she was going to go through with that," you say. You are somewhat surprised it took this long for her to create a Guardian Beast.

"The other person I met was the villain Maclibuin, though I did not recognize him as such because Maclibuin, to the best of my knowledge at the time, did not possess any kind of healing powers, and this individual went into a children's hospital to start healing the patients there. From what I was told, not to mention your reaction just now, _you_ are the one who gave them these powers."

You nod.

Legend spreads his hands helplessly. "I will be blunt, as I would like an answer and honestly do not have the patience to wade through any misunderstandings. Why did you teach a villainous gang how to use magic?"

…The Triumvirate has already accepted the existence of magic? You know you told Alexandria about it, but the fact that all three of them have come to terms with it is better than you could have possibly expected. It greatly simplifies matters. Now you just have to deal with the accusation that you were helping villains get a leg up in the world.

"I didn't teach a _gang_ ," you stress. "I was leery of teaching the Adepts as a whole anything, but after I found out that only four of them had the ability to use magic at all and the group broke apart, I wasn't as concerned that they would use what I taught them for ill. Maclibuin and Standstill were both heroes before they joined the Adepts, and Epoch is more concerned about learning and teaching magic than actually using it for anything. They seemed quite safe to teach."

"There were other options you could have considered," he says. "If you wanted to teach magic to someone, why didn't you approach any _current_ heroes first?"

"That… becomes a little complicated. You see," you quickly add, "there are only a few capes who have magic. It's only present in five percent of the population, parahuman or not. Then there is the issue that using a Device like I do and having parahuman powers are mutually exclusive. Maclibuin proved this when I gave him one. Any parahuman who accepts a Device immediately and permanently loses their other powers." This catches the three heroes off-guard. "Now, a Device isn't necessary to use magic, but it is much more efficient than spellcasting without one, plus a Device comes with its own benefits, like a built-in defensive forcefield and telepathy for communication with other Devices. But for anyone who has built their identity on their powers…"

"That would make things more difficult," Legend agrees after a brief pause. He is lost in thought for a moment or two before he looks up at you again. "That said, would it be possible to look for magical ability not in the Protectorate but within the PRT?"

"It would definitely be possible, but I would need to scan everyone in the building individually, and that would take far too much time. I would need a way to screen them quickly before it became feasible—"

« _Mistress. Telepathy all but inaudible without Linker Core. High-volume signal could potentially reach prospective mages in large number so long as they are located in single location._ »

"—which I might be able to do, though we would need to sort through the details," you continue after Perfect Storm's interruption. "I suppose even if everyone with a Linker Core created themselves a Guardian Beast, it would still increase the number of capes at your disposal, wouldn't it?"

"Indeed it would. I would need to clear it with the Chief Director and the head of whichever branch we choose as the pilot site, but it's a tempting proposition," he says. "Teaching them how to create Guardian Beasts may not be the best plan, though. I am having enough issues with forcing Cat Sith into the chain of command that the idea of making even more of her leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

He is having problems with just one Guardian Beast? How? Samantha was no trouble at all even immediately after you created her. "What kind of problems are you talking about?"

"Mostly the fact she doesn't understand the concept of taking orders instead of doing whatever she wants, although I have found that she will listen to Standstill more often than not, so that is working a little better. The other issue is that her disregard for even the most basic methods we use to protect our secret identities. She refused to stay at base while Standstill was on a routine patrol the one time I tried to give them latitude, and in that same vein she has rebuffed any attempts to create a division in public to protect Standstill's civilian identity from being tied to her. The first time I tried to separate them, her response was quite… crude, and her attitude has only become worse since then."

"Ah, now I understand," Samantha says, the first words she has spoken aloud since getting here. "You made probably the biggest mistake you possibly could have made with them."

Legend looks up at her. "What mistake did I make?"

"Well, you made two mistakes, actually, one of which was the direct result of the other. The larger mistake, if I had to take a guess, was that you saw Cat Sith and treated her like you would treat a Case 53, didn't you?" He nods. "There you go."

"Explain," orders Alexandria.

"I was invited to speak with some Case 53s several months ago when a group of them came through Philadelphia. That is how I know this was your issue. Case 53s look unusual, some would even say monstrous, but mentally they are just as human as you and Calamity. They want to be treated like normal humans, and they _think_ like humans.

"Cat Sith and I? We aren't Case 53s. We were never human in the first place. We are Guardian Beasts, animals uplifted through ritual to serve and support our mages. Unlike you humans, at the end of the day there is only one thing that matters to me: Calamity's safety and happiness. Nothing – not my own safety, nor the interests or concerns of anyone else – is more important than that.

"As a corollary to that, we _need_ to be assured of our mages' safety. You just said you tried to separate Cat Sith and Standstill. She will never accept that, regardless of the reasons you provide. She is young, only in the first few weeks of her new life. It is no surprise that she responded poorly. Instead of being upset, what you should do is thank your lucky stars that all she did in response was apparently curse you out. It could have been much worse."

Legend visibly mulls that over. "Satisfy my curiosity, if you would. If you were in Cat Sith's shoes and I ordered you to stay away from Calamity Witch, what would your response have been?"

"I would have killed you where you stood."

Her answer, delivered without a hint of hesitation, catches him even more by surprise than her explanation did.

In an attempt to distract everyone from the threat on Legend's life, you quickly offer, "If you would like, Legend, I can show you what scanning for a Linker Core looks like right now."

"You can?" he replies, though you notice his eyes flicking back to Samantha a couple of times.

"Absolutely. I can scan all three of you right now. The odds aren't great, you understand, but any one of you might have the capacity for magic."

"I have to say that I am a little curious now," Legend says, no doubt seeing your distraction for what it is. Also of note, his attention is strangely enough focused more on Eidolon than you. He stands and walks to the end of the table. "What do I have to do?"

You move to meet him and hold up your staff. "Just stand right there. You're going to see some beams of light while I'm doing this. That's totally normal." Said lines of blue light shine from the head of your staff and sweep over him a few times, and you watch the screen that appears once the scan is complete. After several seconds, you look away from the results and shake your head. "Sorry."

"It is what it is. You said five percent chance, right? I can't hold you responsible for a bad roll of the dice. Eidolon, you want to try your luck?"

The lone retired member of the Triumvirate stands so you can scan him. Again you have bad news to break, but Eidolon is not nearly so sanguine. "Of course not," he practically spits, and then he storms out the door.

…Well then. You turn to the last person left, but Alexandria is already out of her seat and walking in the opposite direction with her cape billowing out behind her. "I have no interest in the answer to that question."

The door all but slams shut.

"O…kay? What was that all about?" you wonder out loud.

Legend shakes his head, clearly just as confused as you are. "I have no idea."

* * *

 **I wonder why Lexi was so opposed to being scanned…**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	143. Cloudy Skies 11-l

**Cloudy Skies 11.l**

 **Saturday, July 9**

Lacey walked into the kitchen to let the bags of groceries slide off her arms. That done, she stumbled over to the couch and flopped down with a sigh. Living on the top floor of an apartment building sucked, and having to go shopping after a late shift only then to carry everything up the stairs because the elevator was busted – again! – made it all that much worse.

"Bad shift?"

She looked up to find a pair of amber eyes glimmering from a dark corner of the room, the eyes coming closer until Samantha was in view. The woman was no longer in her typical charcoal pant suit and instead had changed into pajamas and a faded T-shirt that Lacey distinctly remembered being one of Annette's favorites back when she was alive. It was a good thing the two were about the same size, as it probably saved Danny and Taylor a nice chunk of change so they didn't have to buy too many new clothes for her.

"Not bad, exactly," she sighed, pulling a pillow over her eyes and forehead. "Long. Boring. You know, same shit different day."

"I can understand that." A small weight landed on her stomach, and she looked down to find a raccoon staring back at her. « _I have an idea on how to make you feel better. Come on. We're heading out on the town._ »

"I wasn't a club girl when I was in college, and definitely not now that I'm working and married."

« _I wasn't talking about_ clubbing,» Samantha replied with exasperation audible in her thoughts. « _We're heading out so you can take your powers for a spin._ »

She let the pillow fall from her face. "I'm not interested in looking for a fight. That was part of my deal with Taylor."

« _Who said we had to get in a fight? I meant using magic just for the sake of magic. Do you know what Taylor's favorite spell is?_ » Lacey shook her head. « _Flight. Not because it's a fast way to get to a crime scene, but just because she loves to fly. Give magic a chance, and you might find something you find equally enjoyable._ »

Searching the raccoon's face for any signs of a lie was pointless, but she did it anyway before dropping her head back on the arm of the couch. "Okay, okay. I'll give it a try."

« _That's the spirit! Let me change real quick, and we'll get out of here._ »

Samantha jumped over the back of the couch, and Lacey listened to her scamper up the stairs. It wasn't as if she did not know what her spells were; she had gone through what was already loaded onto her Boost Device. Her issue was more that none of the three looked like they were much in the way of _fun_.

A couple of minutes later, it was human footsteps that came down the stairs, and she sat up to find Samantha still in the t-shirt but now paired with shorts and a pair of sneakers. What was strange was that she had something else in her hands. "Figured I might as well give this to you now," Samantha said. "It's a drone Tim cooked up for you. He wanted to make sure you had protection if you ever went out in your Barrier Jacket by yourself, so he said he was going to build you a guardian angel."

The other woman held out the drone so Lacey could better see it. It looked like a star off a Christmas tree almost, all gleaming white metal with golden trimming, but the arms of the star were swept backwards away from the glass lens in the middle of the body. "What does it do?"

"Apparently it can project a shield to protect you, and it also has a laser to push back anyone who gets too close. I, uh, don't know for sure how _strong_ it'll push people back, but Tim made it sound like it wouldn't be a light nudge," added Samantha with a shrug. "You don't have to worry about plugging it in, either. Dragon adapted some solar panels so it can recharge itself."

"That would be more impressive if I knew how to use it," she could not help but say.

Samantha fiddled with something in the back between the arms, and a few flecks of light moved up and down the gold of the arms while the disc in the middle flashed on and off. "There you go. Now you just need to pair it with your Device, and it's all set."

" _Signal acquired,"_ whispered what sounded like a trio of voices at once, and Lacey looked down at the ring she now wore on her right hand. The chip of pale amethyst on the band flashed in time with the words. _"Drone controls downloaded. Ready to serve."_

"Thanks, Ascii," she muttered sarcastically. Even her Device was conspiring against her now, it seemed.

" _Gratitude accepted."_

Samantha covered her mouth, but not before the first hints of a chuckle could escape. "Let's just go," she said after a moment to regain her composure and set the drone on the table.

The Guardian Beast's teleportation deposited them on a flat rooftop, and Lacey looked around to discover that there was nothing she recognized in terms of landmarks. "Where are we?"

"A part of town I scouted out earlier today. I've been thinking about this for a couple of days now," Samantha admitted. The other woman was reaching down to touch her toes and turning her torso back and forth, almost as if she was limbering up before a run. "Ready for this?"

"Might as well be." It was not as if she could get herself home, she realized. She had no idea where she was, and Samantha was the only one of the two of them who could teleport.

"Then let's go." Samantha took a couple of steps backwards, then she sprinted toward the edge of the building and jumped. There was a sixteen-foot gap or so between the building Lacey was on and the next, but the Guardian Beast landed several feet further than the edge and had to take another two or three steps to slow back down. "Well?" she called back. "What are you waiting for!"

"I can't make that jump!" Lacey slowly walked over to the edge and looked down. That wasn't even an alley; it was wide enough for two cars!

"Sure you can!" She looked up to find Samantha bouncing lightly in place. "People make jumps longer than this in the Olympics all the time, and they're regular humans. You aren't anymore. Templates come with physical enhancements. Tim got strength. You have _speed_ , and that's all you need to make jumps like this."

Lacey gave her a doubtful look, but Samantha just whistled in the night. She would not be of any help. Another look down at the gap, and she walked away to the far end of the building. If she fell to her death her, she was going to haunt Samantha until the end of time. Bending down, she braced her foot against the lip of the roof like she had seen runners do and took several deep breaths. A push, and she was off.

She knew as soon as she jumped that she wasn't going to make it.

A hand reached out when she made it to the other building, and she grabbed on an instant before her stomach hit the edge of the roof. "You need to watch where you put your feet," Samantha warned her as she pulled Lacey up. "Until you get more comfortable making jumps like this, you want to push off from the edge of the roof right before you jump. Better to give yourself some wiggle room when you land, you know?"

"I'll keep it in mind for next time," she panted, trying to catch her breath after it had been shoved out of her by her rough landing. "Let's head back now."

Samantha gave her an unimpressed look. It was worth a shot. The woman waited until she was standing upright again before poking her in the shoulder. "You're it."

"I'm what—?"

The Guardian Beast was already running away and jumping to another building.

"You sneaky, dirty animal," Lacey grunted. Nothing to do for it now, she supposed, except chase the other woman down.

Samantha lead her on a merry chase from rooftop to rooftop. A few times she started getting close, but Samantha always looked backwards with that damnable grin and poured on a little extra speed just long enough to regain a safe lead. The more that happened, the more complicated the path became, with her having to jump over air conditioning units and roll under duct work. It was not until she grabbed onto an overhead pipe to swing across a gap that she realized she was actually laughing. When was the last time she had let herself have fun like this, she asked herself. She had gotten so comfortable in her rut of daily drudgery that she had not even noticed.

"Told you you'd enjoy it!" cheered a voice from up ahead.

Unfortunately, her stamina was more or less on its last legs. She came to a stop in the middle of an empty roof and leaned over to catch her breath in great pants. She was a cashier at a department store; she wasn't nearly in as good of shape as Samantha, who went out and got into fights all day. There was no way she could catch up like this, but she was sure that Samantha would not consider this game of tag over until she had been touched at least once.

« _Suggestion, madam_ ,» her Device said in her head. « _Running not option. Hide._ »

"Do you think that would work? I though I couldn't use spells without transforming."

« _Transformation not essential. Can not be in standby form._ » The ring on her hand flashed, and a bracelet of purple beads replaced it. It was a chorus of voices that spoke now. « _Full capabilities ready. Desire Cover activation?_ »

"Sure. It's the only chance we have of touching her."

From her perspective, it looked like a web of brightly violet strings spreading over her clothing, but she knew after showing it to Kurt and watching herself in the mirror that to anyone else she was fading into total transparency. Asclepius – Taylor had suggest the name for her Device, though she still was not sure what it meant – had assured her at one point that she was invisible to cameras as well as eyesight, but that was all it was. She was still there, so it was not as if bullets would go through her they way they would if she were smoke or something, and she could still be heard if she talked.

Still, invisibility was nothing to sneeze at.

Lacey did her best to keep her breathing as quiet as possible and waited. A minute passed, and Samantha came back into sight. "Lacey!" the Guardian Beast called out, looking for all the world like someone looking for their lost pet. "Lacey! Where are you?!"

The other woman was walking her way now, but she would not come by close enough for Lacey to reach out and touch her. Carefully she turned to her right so she was still facing Samantha.

Even for all her caution, her feet scraped a little on the rooftop.

Samantha stopped in her tracks and turned her way. The look of confusion was obvious on her face, and she tilted her head back and took two sniffs of the air.

The game was up. Lacey sprinted towards the Guardian Beast, uncaring of the noise, and slapped the back of an outstretched hand. The contact was enough to break her invisibility, or perhaps Asclepius decided it was best Samantha realize it was not an actually attack, but either way she gave Samantha a cheeky smile. "Now _you're_ it."

The woman just laughed, and it must have been infectious because Lacey could not help but join in.

"You look worn out," Samantha said once they had their giggle fit under control. "Let's head back so you can…" She trailed off, and one ear flicked to the side. "Huh."

"What is it?" asked Lacey.

"I don't know."

'It' turned out to be a fight that was happening a few alleys away. Four men carrying knives and pipes made up one side. The other was a single individual in a faintly reflective scarlet bodysuit and a metal helmet. What kicked everything off was not absolutely clear, but the black woman curled up in a ball and pressed up against one of the walls of the alley narrowed down the options significantly.

Lacey looked to the side to find Samantha watching her. "We don't have to get involved. This guy looks like he has is under control." A clang from below made them look down to find that the cape had been shoved against a nearby dumpster and was doing his best to block the punches one of the other men was throwing. "Well. Mostly."

Her hands clenched. She didn't _want_ to get into fights like this! It was the entire reason she had accepted her Device and then done nothing with it other than a few Internet searches on her break. But if she walked away from something right in front of her… wasn't that the same thing as saying she was okay with this happening?

"I'm not a fighter," she whispered.

 _"Madam,"_ replied her Device, _"Infinite Enhancement not designated for combat. Spells harass, heal, escape, empower allies."_

She did not have anything to do the first two, but the last? She grimaced as she took a few steps away from the edge. Samantha moved as though to follow, but she held up a hand. "If I'm going to do this, I suppose I should do it right. Ascii? Suit me up."

Light flashed once, and she found herself in the weird robe and pants combination that made up her Barrier Jacket. She had honestly expected to find herself in a void being stripped and dressed one article of clothing at a time again, but this was much better. Maybe that prolonged process was just an initial set up step or something.

Walking back to the edge, she reached out with both hands, palms toward the presumed hero. She knew she looked stupid, but she was not sure how else to do this. "Strike Boost."

A triangular diagram just like Taylor's appeared beneath her feet and started rotating. The man exchanging punches with the hero suddenly flew several feet away to land flat on his back, knocked out cold. The hero, in turn, looked down at the glow that surrounded his hands and feet in understandable surprise.

"I'll be right back," Samantha assured her before jumping off the roof. Both her feet slammed into the back of one of the men who had been walking back towards their victim. When he face-planted into the street, Samantha jumped and spun to smash the heel of her foot into the face of another man. The unknown hero took advantage of the distraction to run at the last man and throw a leaping kick into his chest.

Silence filled the alleyway once all the bodies had stopped falling, broken only by the hoarse choking sobs from the woman on the ground.

"Thanks for the assist," the hero said, throwing Samantha a sloppy salute. "I didn't expect to run into this many guys at once."

"Not a problem. I'm Samantha," she told him as she stepped on the head of the guy she was still standing on top of to offer a handshake.

"Call me Jujak."

"What the hell is a jujak?" Lacey asked out loud.

 _"Jujak. Mythological entity in Korean folklore. Also called Vermillion Bird, protective spirit described in multiple mythologies of that region."_

Vermillion Bird? It would explain his red outfit, she supposed. Asclepius's voice caught Jujak's attention, and he looked up to see her peering down at him. She waved at him for lack of anything better to do, and he returned the gesture.

"I didn't realize you guys patrolled this area," Jujak said, looking back to Samantha.

"We don't normally. We were actually just out on a run when we heard a commotion and came to check it out."

"If you ever want to 'go on a run' in this area again, you're more than welcome. Especially if you're going to save my bacon again like you just did," he said with a faint laugh.

Jujak volunteered to take the responsibility of getting the men's victims to the police, and Samantha flew back up to meet her. "I know you didn't want to get involved in a fight like this," she told Lacey, "but you did well."

"I didn't do much. One spell, that's it."

Samantha shook her head. "One spell that swung things back to the good guys' side. That's more than not much."

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," she admitted to Samantha as well as herself. "It isn't something I want to spend all my time doing, but I am glad I could help out a little."

"A little is fine. Remember the wise words of Edmund Burke: _'All that is necessary for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing'_. As long as we do _something_ to help our fellow man, that's what matters."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	144. Cloudy Skies 11-11

**Cloudy Skies 11.11**

 **Monday, July 11**

You appear in the Tinkers' workshop and look around. The tinking sound production is present but much reduced from its normal, such that even with what sound there is it still strikes you as an oppressive silence. "Where is everybody?" you ask the one individual who is where she is supposed to be.

The oddly named Firefly – 'oddly named' mostly because it is her brother who has the bright red feathers on his head while her own are a drab brown – does not glance away from the futuristic rifle she is busy assembling. "Sir and Twin are out. He said he wanted to analyze time-loop bubbles created by a villain. The prime fairy went to another production plant to supervise construction of armor for her organization. The feather fairy is in her room, watching something the prime fairy turned on for her."

Even after five days or so of their existence, you still have to spend a second figuring out what Tim's Guardian Beast means. It was an odd quirk of both her and Nostromo that they do not use names for anyone; the closest they get to that is calling Tim 'Sir' and each other 'Twin'. Everyone else is instead referred to by a descriptive title. Still, you know enough about your allies' schedules to put it together. Dragon had, after all, said she needed to get copies of her Dragon Teeth armor made for a demonstration, and likewise Tim had made comments about using his new understanding of temporal shenanigans to see what he could discover about the victims left behind by Grey Boy. If anyone can come up with a way to free the people he trapped in his infamous bubbles, you would put your money on Tim and Dragon.

Firefly snaps the last piece of the rifle into place and finally looks up at you. "I need a test subject."

"I'm not letting you shoot me with that thing," is your immediate response.

Apparently that is not exactly what the Guardian Beast of the Gear meant if her shaking head is any indication. "I need someone to fire this weapon. Sir and the prime fairy wish to submit it for testing by the organization, but I need to prove that it is at minimum not inferior to weapons already in use."

Well, that explains why she also has the laser rifle your dad and the Privateers bought off Coil on another part of the table. "Sam, can you take care of that? I need to finish off this email."

Your Guardian Beast mutters something under her breath but steps up to the plate. You, on the other hand, pull up the screen where Perfect Storm saved a draft of the email you had been dictating before coming over here.

Legend emailed you this morning asking for further details about the Guardian Beast process, and from reading between the lines you are pretty sure this was a huge topic of conversation between him and the higher ups in the PRT. On Friday, he had floated out the idea of scanning every agent in a city for magic and having them create Guardian Beasts of their own, but somehow between Friday and today, that went from idle musings to a solid plan signed off on by the Chief Director. His email even mentioned using the Philadelphia branch as the pilot for the program!

His questions and concerns right now are all on the practical issues, including an obvious reluctance to have a bunch of rebels like Cat Sith running around. "Okay Storm, I'm stuck. Do you have any ideas for how we could guarantee Legend that the Guardian Beasts we help the PRT create will fit within their power structure? I'm coming up blank."

" _Animal species plays role in Guardian Beast behavior,"_ your Device says in a faintly lecturing tone. _"Based on name, Cat Sith created from feline base. Felines and avians tend towards highly independent Guardian Beasts. On opposite spectrum, cooperative and submissive Guardian Beasts most common result of uplifting pack canines or herd ungulates."_

"I don't think the PRT has any mounted police, so horses are probably off the table. Dogs should be doable, though." You add that to your email and look over it again. That was more or less the last big question you were wrestling with, so you shrug your shoulders and send the reply back to Legend.

The zaps and zorches that filled the air trail into silence, and you look over at the two Guardian Beasts before your jaw drops. Firefly set up a wooden crate with a bullseye painted on it at the far end of the room, but judging by the scorch marks, Samantha managed to hit everything _except_ the target.

Firefly, in turn, is staring at Samantha in undisguised horror. "This is not possible. The weapon cannot be this miscalibrated. It would have blown up in your hands. Could you…?" She trails off, holding up the original laser rifle.

Another minute and another round of tests reveals it is not the gun that is at fault.

"This makes me feel better," the Gear says with a satisfied smile as she pulls the rifle out of Samantha's grasp. "I am pleased I did not build you a custom weapon as I considered. You would be more dangerous to individuals around you than your enemies."

"Hey, I can use all sorts of weapons just fine!" Samantha protests. "Spears, swords, hammers. I even one time was playing around with a length of chain and used it like a whip to carve a smiley face in a box. Don't ask," she adds when you open your mouth to do just that. "It's these stupid guns that don't make any sense."

"Mm hmm, mm hmm," hums Firefly, taking a pad and pen out of her pocket and scribbling a few things down. A wave of green light appears and fades, leaving Tim and Nostromo blinking spots out of their eyes. "Sir, welcome back. The weapon is ready, but further tests are still necessary. Do not let the flame witch's Beast near it; she is a menace. Twin, I desire your opinion."

"O… kay? Thank you?" is Tim's reply. Nostromo, meanwhile, picks up the box that came back with them and walks out with Firefly deeper into the compound. "So. What brings you up here today, Taylor?"

Right, your real purpose for coming here. "I was hoping to borrow you and Dragon for a short trip. Remember how Cassiel said she had something to show us to get the Protectorate on our side about how to undo the conditioning she used on her victims? Now's as good a time as ever."

"Makes sense. Dragon had some other errands to run, but she should be back soon. Are we waiting for Lacey, too?"

You shake your head. Lacey is… otherwise engaged at the moment. She actually told you this morning before she went to work that she planned on running to Pennsylvania Presbyterian, the same hospital your dad was in before Alexandria brought Haven's healer to help him. She is not visiting a friend, however. Her template apparently has the same healing spell you gave Maclibuin, and she elected to volunteer a day in the hospital and test out her power that way.

"Oh well. I guess it will just have to be the four of us."

* * *

Once Dragon returns from overseeing her construction plant and Samantha drags Cassiel away from reruns of Looney Tunes, you look squarely at the former Endbringer. "Cassiel, you said you had something to show us that will help open up talks about trying to deprogram your victims. Where are we going?"

"Somewhere inaccessible to anyone else. It is in another dimension," she says, her fluttering wings revealing just how satisfied to be revealing this information. She has admittedly been sitting on it for a while, but you wanted to deal with all the other issues that keep coming up before you went gallivanting off on a potential wild goose chase on the Simurgh's say-so. It was not as if you really knew whether you could trust her, and even now you still aren't fully sure.

That said, it's really, _really_ hard to assign malevolent motives to anyone who was caught browsing Amazon for a Bugs Bunny stuffed animal.

You shake that thought away before you start laughing at her again and conjure a window containing the code for your Dimensional Transfer spell. "Okay then. I ask again, where are we going?"

"I am… not sure of the exact coordinates. I have never been there myself, only seen people transfer back and forth between this world and that one."

That makes you look back at her. "There are other people who routinely cross dimensions?" You thought that was impossible for parahumans! The only Tinker who ever performed a feat even close to that was the villain Professor Haywire, who famously created a portal to Earth Aleph, but that portal was only capable of transferring data, not any kind of physical materials.

"An individual capable of such did exist, but I have good reason to believe that he or she is deceased and has been for some time." She moves her focus to the gem in your staff. "Perfect Storm, perhaps you can determine our destination? I am sending you what information I was able to accumulate previously."

Your Device hums. _"Processing… Calculating teleport vector… Cross-referencing astrometry data from Enforcers… Possible match found. 79% likelihood."_

"That isn't a strong match," Dragon points out.

" _Next candidate less than 5%."_

"Fair enough. Consider my objection retracted."

"You're sure you can get us there?" you ask instead. If Perfect Storm is having this much trouble finding the place, you reserve the right to be concerned this little adventure is going to end in blood and tears.

" _Transfer simple. Question regarding proper destination."_ For all your Device's concerns, it must still be willing to trust Cassiel's vague directions because you feel a tug on your Linker Core and watch your sigil expand into place.

Teleporting between worlds takes mere seconds, and you look down from the hill you stand upon at the ruined village below. The columns make the architecture seem vaguely Greek, but in all honesty there is no way you can say for sure where you are. What you can guess is that this is not from the era of Homer and Aristotle; the remains of the village are overrun with the encroaching grasslands, but you would guess that it's only been a few decades that it has been abandoned, not thousands of years.

"Is this what you wanted us to see?" asks Tim dubiously.

Cassiel shakes her head. "It is not this. I do not know the precise location. It should be in the near vicinity." A flap of her wings sends her rocketing into the sky, and she hovers above you and turns slowly in a circle before coming back down with a broad smile on her face. "We are close. Our destination is on top of the cliff behind us."

It is a good thing all of you can fly because looking at the rough surface of the cliff face, you do not envy anyone who had to make that climb regularly. Another ruin awaits you at the top, but where the first was simply abandoned, this one was intentionally destroyed. A few spans of gleaming white stone make up what little is left of an exterior wall, and past that? A deep crater that reveals subterranean tunnels almost like the inside of an anthill.

You turn to the fairy who is now perched on your shoulder. "What we need to see is down there, I'm guessing?"

"Somewhere. I do not know more than that."

Glancing at the others, you can tell that Samantha not only knows what you are about to say, she is not happy about it. "You think we should split up."

"The chances of us facing anything worse than some wild animals down there is slim to none, and it looks like a maze already. Splitting up halves the time we need for a proper search. Just in case we run into anything dangerous"—now Samantha huffs—"you should go with Tim while I stick with Dragon and Cassiel. A Tinker and a fighter for each. Tim, do you have a way to light your path?"

He reaches into a couple of the pockets that cover his pants and finally pulls out a small flashlight.

"Good enough. We stay in constant contact, and we let the other team know if we find anything interesting."

Tim and Samantha take the lefthand side of the hole, so you descend to the first hallway on the right. A single Flare Shooter provides just enough light to cast everything five feet from you into eerie shadows, and you sigh before turning it white-hot. Better, even if now you want to make sure you don't melt the ceiling.

" _Is it just me, or is it a little strange that we have an underground base with white metal everything a hop, skip, and a jump way from what looks like some kind of Grecian-meets-medieval village?"_ Samantha asks on the screen that floats in front and to the left of you.

"I had noticed the same," Dragon agrees, "but I think we know the answer. Cassiel mentioned that people were crossing back and forth between our world and this one. They are likely the people who brought the tools and supplies necessary to build it. Am I right?"

"We are entering the realm of conjecture. I do not know all the details," replies Cassiel in a huffy voice. "Nor will I reveal the identity of those whom I know journeyed here. You will not believe me should I do so."

Deeper and deeper into the shattered building you go, and Dragon clearly has had enough of the silence because she asks, "A question for you, Tim. Why did I see Firefly walking around with a laser rifle? Is she planning to go hunting for something?"

" _Not exactly. It's actually for you, kind of."_ That catches her by surprise. _"You said you were planning to show off the armor you're building for the PRT and the Guild, and I thought that if they're about to have their defenses revamped, it would make sense to give them another choice with weaponry. Something that's less cumbersome than tanks of containment foam. Firefly built a rifle that we can submit to the Protectorate for testing, and once they approve it, we can put it into full production for them to use."_

"Wow. Thank you, truly. I was not expecting you to do something like this. It is a lot of effort to go through for little reward, which raises another question. I would prefer it if no one takes offense at this," she adds with a deliberate look at you. Why would you be offended?! "If you plan to contribute so substantially to the PRT and Protectorate, why not join as a full member? I know you, Taylor, and Samantha are independent affiliates already, but there are numerous benefits to joining. You would have ready access to other Tinkers to bounce ideas off of, a full team to support you, and a budget of your own so you don't have to mooch off me all the time."

"… _Oh god, Dragon, I didn't know it was becoming a problem! I mean, you said to use whatever I thought I needed, and I did my best not to waste anything, but if it was that bad why didn't you say anything—"_

"Tim! That part was a joke."

His panicked babbling stops, and his expression of horror hesitantly smoothes back out into something approaching normal. _"Whew, okay. Sorry. Um, anyway, Protectorate. A lot of that sounds great and all, but wouldn't I have to do stuff like Armsmaster did back home in Brockton Bay, go on patrols and be marketed and everything? I'd much rather stay in the lab and just build stuff."_

Dragon nods and flutters to your shoulder opposite Cassiel. When did you become the preferred perch for tired fairies? "You aren't the only one. Most Tinkers do. Marketing is a big thing with the Protectorate, yes, and you would have to work with their PR office. _'Defending hearts is just as important as defending lives'_ , after all," she says with a roll of her eyes. "That isn't all bad, though; it would ensure that everyone knows about your designs and ideas."

" _And the patrols?"_

"Tinkers are put on the patrol schedules just like their colleagues. I know you don't want to fight, so that would be a strain on you." Tim's snort confirms that. "If not the Protectorate itself, the Guild is also an option. We have a smaller budget than does the Protectorate, no surprise, and fewer people would see your designs or realize how mana-based technology has the potential to revolutionize a number of industries, but we are much more _laissez-faire_ about things like patrolling or making yourself kid-friendly. The downside is that you would still be expected to contribute to our primary purpose, dealing with S-class threats."

" _Instead of getting into fights with gang-bangers and drug dealers every day, it'd be serial killers and monsters every month."_

Dragon looks aghast at the screen. "We don't fight nearly as often as that! But… yes, that is the gist of it."

" _Uh huh."_

You turn a corner and start down another hallway before she speaks again. "If… If you do not care about accolades and fame and just want to design things, there is another option we haven't discussed yet. You could come to work for me officially."

Tim frowns. _"What do you mean, work for you officially?"_

"Exactly that. I offer you a position in DragonTech, and then I provide you the materials you need to work with and pay you a salary and bonuses. It is in many ways the same arrangement we have now, just made more formal. It also means I can protect you from lawsuits or political attacks in case anything goes wrong with your designs, or even if someone uses it incorrectly and tries to blame you for it. The patent wouldn't be under your name, but under mine."

" _Would you be able to afford that? I mean, I know you said the mooching thing was a joke, but now I'm worried that I'm eating into your funds. You've helped me so much, I don't want to be a burden on you, and I don't want you offering me a job out of charity either."_

This actually makes Dragon laugh, though the sound is a tad bit mocking. "Yes, because turning me into a real girl with no expectation of reward wasn't charity in its own way. You have no need to fear that my business is in the red. I can probably pay you entirely out of profits from my newest project and still have money left over. You would deserve it, too, since I never would have figured out how to do it without you."

Tim shoots you a confused look, one you return. "You think the Dragon Teeth armor will be that successful?"

"The armor? No, no, no, that's not what I'm talking about. Have… Have I not told you about it?" You shake your head, so she explains, "I'm going into the personal computer business."

" _I think there's already plenty of competition in that field,"_ Samantha points out.

"Not in what I intend to provide," Dragon says with a little smirk. "Desktops are not mobile. Laptops have moving parts that make them fragile. Tablets are limited in their capabilities. I'm combining all their good traits into a single package and throwing in a dash of magic. Imagine this for me: a solid brick, sturdy even if you drop it. Hit the power button, and instead of hooking it up to anything you get a holographic screen and keyboard. Both of them are touch-sensitive, and when you need to move on you put the computer to sleep, stick the processor in a purse or a briefcase, and there you go."

You can imagine it all too easily. The screens she is talking about must be based on the same screens you have gotten used to since finding Perfect Storm. "The holograms alone would give it the cool factor it needs."

She nods. "Indeed they will. I'm still working on the operating system since I want it to be slick and intuitive, and I need to adapt some aspects of tablet systems for the screen interactivity to work correctly, but I should have it ready to reveal publicly by August or September at the latest and hopefully I can get them in production in time for the Christmas season. I could also do preorders, but I would prefer to be able to ship immediately."

That is an ambitious goal, but combining the holographic features and Dragon's instant name recognition? She might be able to do it. "You're doing all the work yourself?"

"On the hardware, yes, but not the software. I have a couple of new A.I.s trying out new features, and I've also employed some computer engineers who just graduated to come up to my Toronto plant to determine and refine the best human features."

" _Even then, you're counting on how much you might make—"_

"This is a new branch of my business, Tim, and a small one besides," she tells him in a faintly irritated voice. "Most of my money? Patents for containment foam, the production process, the sprayers, and the dissolving agent, and the distribution to the PRT earns me a significant income already. Then there are the contracts I have with the military to design aircraft for the U.S. and Canadian Air Forces. _And_ I'm involved with launching telecommunication satellites into orbit, which is undoubtedly soon to broaden in scope to manned space flight again now that the Simurgh is gone." Dragon shakes her head. "You have no reason to be worried that I'm headed for bankruptcy. I don't have a budget; I have a percentage of Canada's GDP. Even with the expense of assembling a personal fleet of billion dollar fighter jets, I still have more money than I know what to do with."

You hear a grunt from off-screen, and Samantha asks, _"Hey, can I get a light over here?"_ Tim's flashlight and the screen both turn to follow her, and she shifts a pieces of debris out of the way before dislodging a scratched up metal briefcase. _"Well now. What do we have now?"_

"Hold on a moment," you tell her. "We'll be right over. Storm, can I get her coordinates?"

By the time you and the Unison Devices arrive at Samantha and Tim's location, she has already cleared another area. "Ready to see what this is?" she asks, to which you nod. She flips the tabs and lifts the lid.

What you see inside is less than impressive. A few sheets of paper sit on top, and beneath them are a pair of glass tubes holding a thick slurry. The briefcase is filled with styrofoam except for the two slots cut out for the vials, so clearly they were important to somebody, but what are they?

"Holy shit," whispers your Guardian Beast. She raises her eyes from the papers to meet your own. "Do you know what these are?"

You shake your head.

"Superpowers. Superpowers in a can." She holds the papers out for you. "You need to read this."

 _Dear Accord_ ,

"Isn't Accord a villain?" you ask. That name is ringing a bell, though you can't remember any details about him.

"Yes, in Boston. He used to all but run the city's underworld, but he has been steadily marginalized for the last couple of years. It was about the time his organization stopped its constant growth," Dragon added in a murmur.

 _Thank you for your recent purchase of superpowers. These vials were prepared as per our normal contract. Please be aware that Client 2 will need to be on birth control for the foreseeable future, as we are unable to predict what interaction her power would have with a pregnancy._

 _This case contains the following:_

 **Canister A:** _H-2-0-0-1, 'Disruption', 75% mixture.  
_ _Added: C-0-0-7-2, 'Balance', 25% mixture.  
_ _To be consumed by Client 1._

 **Canister B:** _B-1-3-9-8, 'Leo', 80% mixture.  
_ _Added: O-0-1-2-1, 'Aegis', 15% mixture.  
_ _Added: C-0-0-7-2, 'Balance', 5% mixture.  
_ _To be consumed by Client 2._

 _We hope you enjoy your purchase. Please contact us again for all your further parahuman needs._

There is no signature, but the letterhead at the top holds an emblem. The Greek capital letter omega, rotated ninety degrees counterclockwise.

" _Cauldron_."

You look at Dragon, who has left your shoulder and is now staring at the sheets of paper. "You know who they are?" you ask.

She shakes her head. "I don't know anything about them. Nothing definitive, anyway. Nobody does. There have been rumors online for years about them, an organization that produces and sells superpowers, but no one has ever found any proof that they exist. I've scoured the Internet on multiple occasions but never found anything. They are a myth, an online legend. I was all but sure they didn't actually exist. But this? Vials of liquid that you can drink and gain powers from, hidden in a ruined base _in another dimension_? This cannot possibly be a hoax. It is far too elaborate."

"Cassiel." The ex-Endbringer perks up now that she hears her name. "You said this would help us have an honest discussion with the Protectorate." She nods, and you stare into her eyes. "How?"

Her self-satisfied, knowing smile would be at home on the Mona Lisa's face. "You will have to ask the Triumvirate. They will find this information interesting. Between the two of us, I would recommend you mention it to Alexandria. She ought to reveal the most out of the three of them."

You were not planning to talk to Eidolon ever again, not after his temper tantrum when you scanned him, but you would have assumed Legend would be the most open of the Triumvirate. "Does she know more about this than Legend does?" you guess.

"Nothing I say regarding this will be as convincing as what she tells you." Her suggestion made, Ziz slides her thumb and index finger across her mouth in a zipping motion.

When the newer of the fairies does not quail under your glare, you turn to Dragon. "When are you planning on fishing the Simurgh's old body out of the ocean?"

"Friday. You want me to invite Alexandria along for the ride?"

"Please. It seems she might be the only person who will actually give us any answers." Plus, you decide, you have a couple other things to talk to her about.

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	145. Cloudy Skies 11-12

**Cloudy Skies 11.12**

 **Wednesday, July 13**

You have been to the Philadelphia combined Protectorate and PRT base on more than one occasion, but today is the first day you ever arrived by car. It would be a little cooler if the reason was because of a sense of secrecy and confidentiality, as though you were a character in a spy novel, but the truth is far less impressive. It is really more the fact that you have never been in the main garage of the base, and because you are just an independent you need an escort around the base. It's easier for someone to pick you up from a couple of blocks away and drive you into the garage than to be guided from the rooftop access door through the rest of the building.

Sadly, no matter how many life-changing revelations you have fallen into in your six months as a hero, sometimes it is still bureaucracy that wins the day.

The door of the garage closes behind you, and the driver of the sedan pulls up to a van that has been parked in the middle of the route rather than in a specific parking spot. "Your stop," the driver says with a grin. You're glad someone seems to find this all very routine, though his expression wavers slightly when your Barrier Jacket appears in a flash of light and you hand over the simple domino mask Samantha picked up for you yesterday. You are willing to take steps to protect your identity, but that does not mean you will stand around on a street corner in full costume.

Samantha hops out ahead of you and transforms back into her normal human shape, and the two of you walk around to the other side of the van where all the action is. Legend and a balding man you recognize from a photo as Director Paulson are there, along with the surprise appearance of Standstill and an Indian woman covered with tiger stripe tattoos. The cat ears on her head leave little doubt that this is Cat Sith, the other heroine's own Guardian Beast. Then there is another man in a standard PRT jacket over his dress shirt sans tie.

The target of their collective interest is obvious. Someone in a suit of armor stands before them, the plates a gleaming black with golden accents. It is slimmer than the suits of power armor Tim built for the Privateers, but you can still large elements of his design in this. The back has 'PRT' drawn in bold letters, and walking around the group to get a better look at the front of the individual reveals the PRT's logo stamped above the tinted visor of the helmet.

Next to the suit floats a silvery sphere the size of a softball with a glowing blue line wrapped horizontally around it. The top of the sphere projects a screen with Dragon's digital avatar, who is already in the middle of her sales pitch. _"…In addition to protection, the armor also provides a slight increase in lifting strength and running speed. It is not an extreme difference, but it will still put the agent inside at an advantage against any baseline human or any cape who is not a Brute or a Mover. My team has also designed a laser rifle that will be made available to the PRT once it is approved by the Tinker review board."_

"That's all well and good," the man in the jacket says, "but my understanding is that Tinkertech requires the Tinkers who built them to maintain them. Armor and weapons are less useful if we have to constantly send them back to you for repairs."

" _These blueprints were intentionally designed to be maintained by any PRT mechanic with a small amount of training, but depending on how Calamity Witch's project turns out, that may not be an issue in the first place."_

Her comment and nod at you directs everyone's attention to you. "Good to see you, Calamity Witch," Legend says in greeting. "I don't know if you've met Director Paulson or Agent Samuels, the head of field operations for this city. They were both interested to see if this works."

"Yes," the director adds slowly, "your idea to find other people capable of 'magic'."

His disdain for that word and his doubt regarding your sanity is obvious to everyone here. _"It is not unbelievable. The technology you have just seen runs on the same energy field Calamity Witch can draw from. We are calling it magic and mana for lack of a better name, but regardless of the terminology it is very real."_

"Just call it dark energy or something then," Director Paulson mutters. "Not something as childish as magic."

Childish?! You dearly hope now that _he_ of all people doesn't have a Linker Core, just so he can't directly benefit from the gift you're giving the PRT.

"Thank you for your help, sergeant," Legend tells the man in the power armor. "You are dismissed."

"My pleasure, sir," the man says in a Canadian accent. He turns to Dragon's screen. "Could I get a trip back—"

Rings of bright blue light surround him, and he fades out of sight. _"This is your show now, Calamity,"_ Dragon says in a voice the suggests nothing that just happened is in any way out of the ordinary.

You roll your head around on your shoulders and shrug your shoulders to loosen up. « _Ready for this, Storm?_ »

« _Awaiting your command, Mistress._ »

"Samantha, Standstill, Cat Sith? You might want to plug your ears. Storm, transmit at full volume."

The mage and the Guardian Beasts hastily try to block off their telepathy somehow. You don't know if it will work, but it's better to let them try than catch them unaware.

« _Good afternoon, everyone!_ » you project, the transmission echoing oddly in your head. « _This is Calamity Witch, a hero here in Philadelphia. If you can hear this message, Legend, Director Paulson, and I need to talk to you. Please meet us in the garage._ »

There you go. The message is out. The only thing to do now is to wait for—

The door to the garage slams open, and a woman in tactical armor storms out holding her head. "What the hell was that?!"

Okay. That's a start.

More people drip into the garage in ones and twos, and when you finally decide everyone who is coming is here, there are a full thirty people standing around listening as Dragon gives a short intro into the existence of magic. Initially you had thought to give it yourself, but honestly it sounds better coming from a heroine who has greater accomplishments to her name. She also is doing a much better job explaining it in a vaguely scientific manner without having to reveal anything about extradimensional visitors than you would have managed. You, meanwhile, are busy walking around and scanning everyone to get a better idea of whose magic is stronger or weaker.

The results are promising. Of the thirty newly discovered mages, thirteen are the lowly D-rank and eleven C-rank. Three B-rank, two A-rank, and a single AA make up the higher tiers of magic potential. They are also all members of the PRT. The Protectorate and Wards use this same base, so if any of them had Linker Cores, they would have shown up. It appears that they are, to a one, magically inept just the same as Vista.

Sadly, just because it is Dragon giving the lecture does not guarantee that people are going to give her the credence she deserves. The woman who came out in a huff, who is coincidentally also the lone AA-rank mage present, looks back and forth among you, Dragon, and Legend, but it is to the director and Samuels that she directs her doubts. "Is this for real, sir? I mean, we're supposed to believe that we have _magic powers_?"

"I have my doubts as well, Agent Abigail," the director says, "but there is no reason not to give it a try. Worst case scenario, we have all wasted out time. Best case?" He shrugs.

You jump in. "Best case, you get abilities comparable to a parahuman." _That_ gets their attention. Rising into the air, you turn your staff sideways and sit on it. "That's what I do. I'm a normal human just like the rest of you. Went through the same medical tests you had to go through before joining the PRT to prove it, too, since _some people_ didn't want to believe I wasn't a parahuman at first," you add with a teasing glare in Dragon's direction.

No one seems to know what to say to that declaration, and they all look at each other again. A janitor who was found to have a D-rank core hesitantly raises his hand. "Uh, how are we supposed to see if we have magic or not?"

Legend takes a step forward, effortlessly pulling everyone's attention to him. "We have already taken care of that. Director, if you would like to introduce the new recruits?"

Paulson shakes his head but pulls out a walkie-talkie. "Bring them in."

Another door opens, and a group of people walk out, each of them with a multitude of leashes attached to a random assortment of dogs. You are sure you have the same expression of surprise that is plastered on the faces of the assembled mages. "Where…?"

"Adoption shelters from around the city," Samuels says. "We claimed we were starting a K9 unit. Which we still might do if this doesn't work out."

They won't need that contingency plan, but that is certainly not a bad cover story. Calling up a screen, you show the diagram for the ritual to create Guardian Beasts. "Samantha, Cat Sith, could you wave your hands? Everyone, the way I'm going to prove that magic exists is simple. You're each going to take one of these dogs and turn them into Guardian Beasts like these two."

Between yourself and Standstill, you can give the instructions and answer last-minute questions quickly, and then it is a matter of waiting for results. You do not have to wait long.

You turn towards Paulson and Samuels, both of whom are staring at the thirty dog-people who just appeared and are exuberantly expressing joy at their new existences. "Do you still have doubts?" you ask with the faintest of smirks.

Paulson does not look your way but simply shakes his head. Excellent.

You turn back to the agents and call out, "If your concerns that I and Standstill and Legend are crazy have been put to bed, there's still plenty we need to talk about. You are mages now, and there is so much we haven't covered. Standstill and I are going to give you a crash course."

"We are?" asked Standstill in panic.

The humans look at one another before making their way towards you. That leaves the new Guardian Beasts standing around, and even though they are not truly separated from their mages, they certainly look uncomfortable. Before you have a moment to wrack your brain for something to occupy their time while you give your own mini-lecture, Dragon calls out, _"All Guardian Beasts of the Gear, please join me over here. As a Tinker, I have a unique appreciation for your situation."_

Samantha looks over to you, and you shrug. If she has an idea, she should run with it. "Swords and Rifles, you are the attackers, but there are rules you need to know to deal with humans' opinions of combat. They don't make sense, but I'll walk you through them." You shoot her a glare; she did not need to phrase it that way! "Shields and Tomes, Cat Sith will talk to you about defensive strategies."

"Do I have to?" whines the cat.

"Yes, you have to."

Purpose seems to alleviate the new Beasts' worry and anxiety, and they gather around their teachers with greater enthusiasm than do the mages. Six each for Samantha and Cat Sith, while Dragon has a class of sixteen who are already hanging on to her every word. Even divvied up like this, though, two stragglers remain, and you are at a loss for what to do with them now. "Storm, what class are they?" you ask, hoping that information will suggest a course of action.

 _"Guardian Beasts of Mask. Infiltrators, saboteurs. Capable of taking form of others as well as emulating spells and Rare Skills."_

"They can use other mages' Rare Skills?" you ask in surprise. Back before Perfect Storm accepted that parahumans were not mages, it had described parahuman powers as Rare Skills, hadn't it? "Would they be able to copy a cape's abilities?"

 _"…Possible?"_

Someone clears his throat, and you turn to fine Legend waving the Masks towards him. "You two come over here. You are not leaving this room until you have the Protectorate's Master/Stranger protocols memorized backwards and forwards."

* * *

You spend just shy of an hour and a half answering the newfound mages' and their Guardian Beasts' questions, but finally you can escape. You send a goodbye wave to the New York heroes – poor Legend looks like he still isn't sure what to think about the creepy Strangers who now call Philadelphia home – and let Samantha's teleportation spell wash over you as you return home.

…Or to Tim's workshop. Not quite the same, but still a nice place.

The full group of Tinkers are present, though something must have happened to dampen their mood. Tim is sitting in a chair with his hands buried in his hair, and Dragon and Cassiel are on his shoulders whispering something to him. It would be a cute scene were it not quite so reminiscent of old cartoons where someone has an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. Nostromo also looks worried, or as much as either of the feathered Guardian Beasts ever express on their faces; he is wiping tools down with a wet rag and glancing repeatedly at his master.

"Ah. Your timing could not be better." Firefly is the only one who does not appear preoccupied with Tim's mental state, and instead she walks over with something in her hands that she offers to Samantha. Unwrapping the sheet reveals the gift to be a sword with an elaborate cage-like handle over a thick cross-guard.

Samantha pulls the sword out of the scabbard and looks down the blade. "Thank you? I mean, I don't really need a sword, and no offense but this one doesn't have the best balance…" She trails off as she looks closer at the hilt. "What _is_ this?"

"I did say I considered building a weapon for the flame witch's Beast, yes? This is it. Base form is unremarkable. If you press the button near the handle, it will disassemble and elongate."

Samantha does just that and gives it a flick. Even though you are nowhere close to where she is waving her new toy, a blade suddenly shooting out as a ten-foot whip is still startling.

"Is this why you wanted to know the details about my Shredding Claw?" your Guardian Beast asks, giving the whip a few experimental swings and cracks.

"Correct. The cables connecting the sections are thin enough that, in theory, your spell should concentrate on the segments. Each one would therefore apply the armor-weakening effect individually." Firefly shrugs. "You said the effect was multiplicative. The more segments that hit, the faster you destroy your target's defenses."

"That sounds nice, but it doesn't explain why there's a _trigger_ on this too."

Firefly glares at her. "You cannot be trusted with firearms at long distance. A laser pistol hidden in the guard gives you a surprise weapon should someone be too close for you to attack them with the blade."

You decide to leave the two Guardian Beasts to argue about just what should be inside Samantha's weapon, so while they continue on that subject you walk over to the rest of the group. "Don't tell me Dragon's running the newest member of her company ragged already."

No one laughs at the admittedly weak joke, but it does get Tim's attention even if he does not lift his head. "I wish that were it."

"He was analyzing another of Bakuda's bombs," Dragon explains when it becomes clear Tim has no intention of doing so. "The results were… not what we expected."

Any of those bombs could be the culprit, but there was one that you had concerns about. "Didn't you think one of them was possibly based on some of the Butcher's powers?"

"That one was less impressive than advertised," Dragon tells you. "All it did was overload nerves to cause intense pain. The underlying method is honestly the only interesting part. Tim had a few ideas about how it might be adapted to create virtual reality controls for drones or create entirely mental HUDs. If nothing else, it has potential applications in the healthcare industry for prosthetic connections or perhaps a full exoskeleton for quadriplegics."

So if that bomb isn't the problem, which of them is?

"We just finished analyzing the Crawler bomb," says Tim with a sigh. "It's a nightmare, even if I could refine it."

Samantha walks over, buckling the sword and scabbard to her belt. "What does it do?" she asks.

"Mutagenesis. Just like what Crawler was capable of. Immediate, hideous mutations. I ran some simulations. Insect carapaces, claws, sprays of acid. Anyone I used it on would turn into a monster."

"All the first bomb you played around with could do was stop time," you point out, "but you said you could broaden its range of effects. You even thought you might be able to pop Grey Boy's bubbles. The same thing is probably true about this—"

"No, it isn't!" he snaps, finally looking up at you. "That's the problem. The mutations aren't a side effect I can get rid of. They're the _objective_. That's how Crawler's power worked.

"Let's say I wanted to make you tougher and harder to hurt. I shoot you up with a serum, and you would develop rhino skin or scales or a shell because that mutation is _how_ you would get tougher. There's no way to divorce the beneficial side and the mutation. I'd be turning people into Case 53s," he finishes with a sigh.

Dragon huffs. "I've already told you that is not the case. Case 53s aren't defined just by their physical abnormalities. The amnesia is just as important. This particular effect is not one that can be tossed about without long consideration, but it may still be of use. We just need to be careful."

"Going back to the Grey Boy thing for a moment," you say, dragging the conversation away from the ethical issues that you now see are what are really plaguing Tim, "you went off to look at the time loops a couple of days back. Do you think you can do anything about them?"

His bitter laughter tells you this might not have been the best subject either. "I don't know. I just don't know. I can disrupt the edge of the anomaly to break it, that much I'm sure about, but I have no clue what happens next. Maybe all the people inside are set free unharmed. Maybe the years they've been stuck there catch up with them all at once and they die of starvation. Maybe I erase them from existence when the time loop collapses in on itself." He shakes his head. "There are just too many possibilities. I can't predict what will happen unless I actually try it, and from there whatever happens is my fault."

* * *

 **I was looking forward to introducing the Crawler bomb. So much chaotic fun can be had with that. If only the players had a transhumanist character to try it out on…**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	146. Cloudy Skies 11-13

**Cloudy Skies 11.13**

 **Friday, July 15**

Waves crash against the hull of the ship as it chugs along deeper into the Atlantic. It took Dragon a while to get this moving with all the other irons she has in the fire, but now you are on your way to haul up the Simurgh's corpse.

The crew is walking around with much more deference than they had the first time you came out here. You would like to think it is because when they last saw you, you showed them the power of magic to fight evildoers. In reality, it is probably due to the presence of your guest. You glance to the right to find that yes, Alexandria is still standing on the deck with her arms crossed and glaring at the ocean as though it has personally offended her. They are probably worried she will try to do something about that and wreck the ship in the process.

To you, however, she looks stressed out more than anything else.

There are two things you can do, you suppose. The first is ignore it and let the normal people walk around on eggshells. The second is try to sort this out.

"Alexandria." She turns to look at you; it is the first time she has done so since she saw you touching down on the ship before it set out. "Can I talk to you? In private?"

The older heroine is agreeable to that – though she glances around before she nods, so you would not be surprised if she knows the reason behind your request – and follows you down into a cabin or something just off the main deck. You won't be disturbed here. Everyone is busy handling the tasks that come up on a ship, and Dragon herself is either still on a video chat with the captain or working on something else in Vancouver. This is the most privacy you will find this entire voyage. Now you just need to find a topic to justify dragging Alexandria away from her brooding.

It isn't exactly hard to think of one.

You slip past Alexandria to close the door, further separating the two of you from the rest of the ship. "I'm sorry."

Alexandria already had her eye on you, but now her expression morphs into one of mild confusion. "What are you apologizing for?"

"Last week, when I offered to scan all of you." Her gaze pierces yours, and you turn away to look at the wall. "I didn't mean to insult or offend you."

A sigh pulls your eyes back to her. "I wasn't offended. It just wasn't something I was interested in."

That's a lie, and you know it. "You wouldn't have stomped out if that was it. You weren't uninterested; you were upset. I'm just saying I'm sorry for upsetting you like that." The pursing of her lips tells you that she probably does not often have people calling her out on her lies like this. Still, she hasn't walked out yet, so you aren't doing too badly. Curiosity has been buzzing in the back of your head all week, so you bite the bullet and decide to ask one of the strongest capes in the world a probing personal question. "If it's not _too_ private… Why did you react like that in the first place? It's just, I'd like to know if there's something else I should avoid bringing up."

"I am not a piece of spun glass that you must treat with the utmost delicacy, Calamity Witch," she snaps. You take a reflexive step backwards, and she clamps her jaw shut and turns her head away to glare at the wall. "It is an old wound, nothing more."

You can only presume that there is more to come, and you square your shoulders and wait for whatever is about to come next. To your surprise, her own shoulders sag after a moment. "But," she finally allows, "perhaps it is not a wound that has healed as it should have, even after all these years.

"When I was fourteen or so, I started having issues. First it was fatigue, tiredness; where I had played softball and soccer all the time, now it became an effort to climb a flight of stairs. Then I started losing weight. My parents thought I was trying to get thinner, and they couldn't understand that if anything I was constantly hungry. Then the fevers and the shaking chills and the sweats started. That was when they took me to see a doctor about it. First one, then another, and another.

"Cancer, they finally told us. A rare and aggressive form of leukemia. Uncommon in teenagers, but not impossible. They promised us that chemotherapy held the answer, that in a couple of months I'd feel like my old self again." A cold and bitter grimace appears on her face. "They lied, of course. Even now, I don't know if they were lying to us or to themselves, but lie they did. One month turned into two, two into six. They started talking to my parents in whispers where I couldn't hear them. August twentieth, 1986. The date is burned into my memory." She turns to look at you fully. "That was the day I realized there was nothing anyone could do to help me. That day, I knew I was going to die.

"Have you noticed how powers often develop in ways that reflect the situations that cause them? A scared little girl, imprisoned in her own body. Ravaged with pain and weakness and trying desperately to hold on to everything she could. I suppose it is no surprise that I developed the powers I hold now."

Alexandria leans back against the wall and shakes her head. "My body is static, locked in time. When I first gained my powers, I assumed that because I felt better than I ever had that I no longer had cancer. It was not as if I could test it; there has yet to be a needle developed that can pierce my skin. I thought I had put that part of my past behind me."

"Until last Friday," you volunteer.

She nods. "Until last Friday. The breadth of abilities magic offers is astonishing, especially in comparison with my own powers. We can both fly. I have invulnerability; you have a defensive forcefield. The recordings of your staff are just as reliable as my own memory. The only ability you have yet to show you possess is enhanced strength, but I wouldn't be surprised if there was a spell for that, too."

That part you aren't sure of, but you go ahead and nod. Blitz Action does the same thing for speed, so it is not unreasonable for this to be the case.

"Then really, there is little my abilities offer that cannot be replicated. Magic seems to lack the potency of my powers, perhaps, but that is practically the only difference. If I have the capacity, it would make little sense not to upgrade, so to speak." Alexandria shakes her head. "That was when I realized that I do not actually know whether I am still sick or not. Is my leukemia gone, or is it trapped in time the same way the rest of me is? Would I be giving up my powers only to die whimpering in another month or two?"

Now that all the cards are on the table, you can't help but look at her in a new light. Even the great Alexandria is vulnerable to fear.

Still, something does not fit here. Cassiel had said that the ruined base you found would help get the Triumvirate on your side. You have been tossing the possibilities of that statement around since the trip, but now you have to wonder if you might have missed the obvious. You may as well go for broke and damn the consequences, you decide. "How did you get your powers?"

"What are you talking about? I just told you," Alexandria says, looking at you oddly.

"No, what I mean is, did you get your powers from a Trigger Event? Or from a vial?"

The other heroine's face drains of emotion, leaving only a flat mask behind. "…What."

Well, shit. Your guess might be right after all. "I was experimenting with my powers a couple of days ago. I still don't know everything they can do. I found myself on an alternate Earth close to a hole that turned out to be an underground base that was in ruins. From the papers I found, it belonged to an organization called Cauldron, and their business, believe it or not, was selling superpowers."

"You found Cauldron's base?" Alexandria demands. A few steps, and she is invading your personal space; she would be staring down at you were you not so tall. "Did you find any intact vials?"

"You didn't answer my question," you tell her, forcing away the nervousness at being within arms reach of the strongest women in the world, "although from your reaction, I think I can guess what the answer is."

Alexandria takes a step backwards to get out of your face and puts her hands behind her back. A single deep breath is enough to calm herself. "What I am about to tell you, you are to share with no one. Yes, I was one of Cauldron's first customers, though in my case it was not a purchase but a gift. The organization was young, their process still unrefined. They sought me out because of my condition and gave me a choice: take part in their experiment or continue on my present course. They could make no guarantees that it would not kill me outright, but I was already dying. What did I care if my death was that day or in two months? They were offering me the chance to survive, and when I did all they asked of me in exchange was to be a hero and protect the world. It was an easy choice, and one I do not regret."

They asked her to be a hero, but the vials you found were meant to go to Accord, a villain. You cannot help but wonder about that. What was Cauldron's aim? Did they truly want to create heroes and keep the world safe? Or were they like Toybox, the group of rogue Tinkers whose only aim is to sell their products to the highest bidder and make a profit?

"I have answered your question, Calamity Witch," she continues, her eyes boring into yours. "Now answer mine. Did you find any vials?"

Part of you wants to tell her about the two vials, but there is something in her behavior that disturbs you. It reminds you, ironically, of the film version of _The Lord of the Rings_ that came out a decade or so ago, more specifically the scene in Rivendell where Bilbo lunges for the One Ring. His expression was one of avaricious _need_ , and even though Alexandria's eyes are not bulging out of their sockets, you cannot help but feel as though you are in Frodo's shoes.

You slide sideways a few feet, putting some more distance between you and Alexandria. "I didn't go very far into the ruins," you finally tell her. "Just enough to discover what it was. There might still be vials inside. I don't know."

"You need to go back and look. I can't stress how important this is. If there are even a few vials left… You have no idea what kind of difference that can make."

"Why don't you just find someone to duplicate the process, then? If Cauldron could do it once, it can be done again," you point out.

She shakes her head. "That is not possible. The raw ingredients cannot be found on Earth Bet. I doubt they remain in the base, for that matter. We do not have time to go into the details now, but if you can find any vials and bring them back to me, I will tell you what I know about how Cauldron made them."

You open your mouth to respond, but a loud _ding_ sounds from the other side of the door. _"Alexandria, Calamity Witch,"_ comes Dragon's voice, _"we have reached our destination. Sonar is picking up a large object that is almost certainly the Simurgh."_

"Thanks, Dragon. We're on our way out," you tell her.

"Calamity Witch." You turn around to face Alexandria again. She sighs and looks up at your face with a tight expression you would expect to find on someone walking to the gallows. "I am not one to run away from my problems. If you are still willing, I would like to know if I possess any magical ability."

You have the few seconds to spare, and you give her a nod and raise Perfect Storm.

" _Scan complete. Linker Core detected,"_ your Device finally says. Your eyebrows rise, and across from you Alexandria's shoulders stiffen. _"Estimated rank: D."_

"Rank D?" she asks.

" _Natural Linker Cores divided into six ranks based on innate rate of potential mana output. D lowest rank. Spell selection and potency highly limited."_

Alexandria pauses for a moment to let that sink in, then she lets out a scoffing laugh. "I was worried about what having magic would mean, and now I find out that while I may have the ability, it is the weakest it can possibly be and is essentially useless." She shakes her head and walks past you towards the deck. "Come along, Calamity Witch. We have other matters we must attend to."

Part of the delay for this voyage was because Dragon had to build a crane that could be put on the ship without overbalancing it or damaging the integrity of the hull when it is offloaded. The way the crew is watching the gleaming steel now, you wonder if they want to get rid of it anymore or if they will beg to keep it. The head of the crane stretches out over the water, and a dozen cylindrical drones attached to thick cables drop into the water and dive deep with only a smattering of bubbles to mark their course.

The spherical drone Dragon used while talking to Legend and the Philadelphia PRT moves closer to you, and her personal display shrinks to fit in the corner of the holographic display that is now filled with the video feed from one of the drones. It takes a few minutes, but then the lights from the drones reveal a stiff white wing. The Simurgh is still curled up in a feathery ball, the same position she took after transferring her mind into Cassiel's Unison Device.

The crew of the ship stop and stare at the display, and you do not need to be an empath to feel the tension ratcheting higher as they realize just what they are actually part of.

"She _looks_ dead," Alexandria finally says, "but appearances can be deceiving, especially with her."

 _"We will know more when we haul her up. I have three suits en route just in case this is a trick, but I am confident in my machines and my readings. The Simurgh is dead."_

On the screen, the drones dive deeper and start to wrap the body up in the cables trailing behind them.

« _Mistress, incoming transmission,_ » Perfect Storm says in your head. « _Source Vista. Should I connect?_ »

What in the world could Vista want, you wonder. Taking a few steps away from the activity, you start walking towards the base of the crane. "Patch her through."

The black screen common to audio-only transmissions pops up, Vista's name in fancy red lettering in the middle. "Hey, Vista," you start before she can say anything. Vista does not usually use your real name, but in this situation it would be awkward for her to make an exception.

 _"I'm apologizing in advance, but I need to vent to you before I punch Chevalier in his self-righteous face."_ The hell? _"Do you have any idea what that… that_ asshole _just did? He just rubbed my nose in the fact that I'm a_ 'little girl' _while he's treating this newbie as though he's a rising star instead of fresh meat who doesn't know a Brute from his own butt!"_

This already sounds like it is going to be a longer conversation than you really have time for right now. "Look, I'm sorry to cut you off, but now's not a great time."

 _"And what are you doing right now, then?"_ she asks in an exasperated voice.

"Um…" The truth is just going to throw fuel on the fire, isn't it? It might be better to lie, in all honesty, but you like Vista. She doesn't deserve to be lied to about something this innocent. "…I'm out here with Dragon and Alexandria hauling up the Simurgh's body."

There is a long period of silence over the line before she responds. _"…Seriously?"_

"Seriously. Does this really sound like something I'd make up?"

 _"You're hanging out with Alexandria, and I'm being treated like a child."_ She sighs. _"God, being an independent must be nice."_

The sound of something splashing drags your attention to the crowd to see the top of the Simurgh's body rising out of the water. "We just pulled her up. Let me finish up with this, and we can meet up this evening maybe?"

 _"I can't do anything tonight. I'm on Console duty, so I get to listen to this idiot flounder around on another routine patrol through the safe part of town."_ It is a good thing the phrase 'acidic tongue' is not literal, else Vista would not have a phone anymore. _"Maybe tomorrow morning?"_

"Sounds good. I'll text you an address later."

Vista hangs up, and you return to see that the youngest Endbringer is now suspended in the air in all her glory. Alexandria has taken to the sky and is performing the highly scientific test of poking her to see if she reacts. Pokes in this case being punches that would level a normal building. She finishes with an axe kick to the visible portion of the back of the Simurgh's head and drifts back over to the boat. "If she is faking it, she is doing a marvelous job. I have never seen her not try to dodge an attack," Alexandria admits.

The expression on Dragon's face is suspiciously innocent. _"Would you therefore say she is dead?"_

"Yes, Dragon, I will agree that as far as I can tell, the Simurgh is dead." The crew cheers, surprising you with the sudden outburst. Not that you can blame them; if the death of an Endbringer isn't a cause for celebration, nothing is. Alexandria looks back at the gigantic body. "Are you sure that weapon of yours won't work on the other Endbringers?"

 _"Unfortunately. It only worked because the Simurgh is telepathic, which her brothers are not."_

"What are we going to do with her now?" you ask. It is not as if she can be cremated, and while burying her is a possibility, it would need to be a huge grave.

Alexandria crosses her arms, but a smile dances on her face. "I would personally love to turn her into a monument somewhere, but that probably is not the best choice. Not to mention, if we do that I really want the full set."

 _"Until we know for sure, perhaps it would be best for me to keep her in one of my warehouses,"_ Dragon volunteers. _"If nothing else, I would like to study what her body is actually made of in more detail. We might be able to devise something like a sonic weapon that could be targeted at an Endbringer without putting anyone else at risk. It's unlikely, but we will never know unless we try."_

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


	147. Cloudy Skies 11-14

**Cloudy Skies 11.14**

 **Saturday, July 16**

There is a small cafe not far from the Protectorate base that is styled after a French bistro, although it has nothing on the actual French cafe you and Vista visited on your world tour a few weeks back. It does, however, have croissants filled with chocolate cream, which you consider a fair trade. The iced coffee is also tolerable and a better choice than a hot tea in the current weather. You came here at ten o'clock or so, late enough to avoid the breakfast rush but still long before anyone wanders in searching for lunch, so the building is empty except for a few college students working on their laptops with headphones in their ears. It is about as private a public place as you can find on short notice.

You are not quite halfway through your snack when the bell over the door rings and a familiar blonde walks in. Dressed in shorts and a tank top, you cannot help but marvel at how easily Vista separates herself from Missy. Even the artificial nature of her left arm is disguised by the simple guise of tying a green bandana around the connector ring. She gives you a wave as she continues on to the counter, and when she finally drops into the seat across from you at the little table in the corner it is with a steaming cup of coffee in hand.

"Bad shift?" you ask, looking up and down her face.

"Bad shift. Bad week. Bad everything." Missy reaches out to break off a piece of your croissant and pops it in her mouth. "The Wards got a new member recently. Guy called Starmetal. Chevalier brought him by Monday to introduce him to everyone. That was all well and dandy. Another Ward to sit on his rear doing nothing, whoop-de-doo. Except that night he and Sere took him on patrol with them like it was no big deal."

"Maybe they were just giving him a demonstration?" you offer. You aren't exactly happy with Chevalier at the moment, but you can give him the benefit of the doubt on this. He isn't a bad guy, after all; he's just a little too inflexible when it comes to the rules. "If Starmetal has only had powers for a little while, it would be an interesting experience."

She nods. "I thought about that, too. I was willing to cut him a break. Except then Miss Militia took him out on another patrol on Tuesday. Sere again on Wednesday. Every night, he's off with someone from the Protectorate." Missy takes a sip of her coffee. "I confronted Chevalier about it yesterday. Do you know what he said to me? _'Starmetal is seventeen. He will be joining the Protectorate in a few months. We need to get him up to speed so he can be effective when he gets into fights with the villains in this city'_. Because promoting someone with a useless power into a command role when he doesn't know a darn thing makes perfect sense, yet here he is telling me to waste my time playing games instead of actually contributing something. Then he gives me Console duty for a week as punishment for calling him out on his stupidity," she scoffs.

"I hope you didn't use those exact words."

She opens her mouth and shuts it with a sheepish expression. "I… might have lost my temper with him, yeah."

"Oh, Missy." You shake your head in mild disappointment. "I hope you aren't planning to be on his good side any time soon."

"It wasn't the smartest thing I could have done, but in my defense, it's still a terrible idea. Hypocritical, too. Do you know how many times they've told me it takes time to develop leadership skills and responsibility? That I still have a lot to learn before I'm ready to take on the responsibilities of the Protectorate? But now that someone who was born a few years earlier shows up, everyone's eager to put him in charge as soon as possible." She sighs. "You want to know the worst part? I overheard them talking to him last night when they got back. They're going on and on about how quickly he's picking things up, and he believes everything they're saying. I can't do it, Taylor. If we ever have to be in the field together and he tries giving me orders, I don't know what I'm going to do, but it won't be pretty."

"You said he had a useless power," you say, doing your best to drag the conversation out of such dark waters. "I would think with a name like his, he calls down meteors or something, but that obviously isn't the case. What does he really do?"

She flaps her hand as though dismissing her new teammate. "He's a Mover. He merges himself with a material and then pops out again somewhere else. The downside is that it has to be the same material, and where he goes in and comes out have to be a continuous piece. He can travel a nice distance down a paved road, that's all well and good, but he can't touch a window and appear in another building. His power has nothing to do with space. The reason his name is Starmetal is because he has a Breaker state that make him look like he was cut out from a photo taken of stars and galaxies."

"Huh. Weird."

"What's weird?" she asks.

"That power just sounds familiar." You shake your head. "I ran into Chevalier on patrol a couple of weeks ago, and we arrested a group of thugs that were trying to break into a store. One of them Triggered with that exact power. He also looked just like you're describing. But that doesn't make sense—"

"Yeah, it does," she practically spits out. If you thought she was angry before, it has nothing on the expression on her face now. "Sometimes capes who are the right age and find themselves on the wrong side of the law get a chance to join the Wards instead of being thrown into juvie. The Protectorate tries to reform them into useful heroes. It's how we got Shadow Stalker back in Brockton Bay, and she was a grade-A bitch. She was the one person I was happy to see go somewhere else when we were all reassigned to different cities, but now I get to deal with another one."

You have nothing to say to that – you never ran into Shadow Stalker, so you can't say anything about how she acted – but you force your tone to remain hopeful. "Or maybe he'll work out fine. He's only been in the Wards for a week, after all."

"And he'll only be a Ward for a few months before he turns eighteen and automatically gets promoted to the Protectorate, I bet. That's actually worse. Stalker at least had tons of restrictions on her to make up for the fact she wasn't going to jail. Not Starmetal. No, he committed a crime and gets _rewarded_ for it."

"Just because you don't know what his restrictions are doesn't mean they aren't there," you remind her. "There's probably more to this story that we haven't been told."

That takes the wind out of her sails, and she sighs before looking back down at her cooling coffee. "Maybe. You might be right about that. Doesn't change the fact that I'm kind of jealous of you right now."

"Why would you be jealous? If it's about who I was working with yesterday, that doesn't happen on a regular basis. It barely happened once," you say with an uncomfortable laugh.

Missy shrugs her shoulders. "Once is more often than none. I was more talking about the freedom you have, though. I never did the whole independent thing. Pretty much as soon as I had powers, I was talking my parents into signing me up for the Wards. I had had enough of being left alone. I wanted to be around _somebody_ who understood me and what I was going through. Now I'm starting to regret it."

"But what about all those benefits the Protectorate always talks about the Wards getting?" you say in as close to a teasing voice as you can. Maybe humor will do a better job of lightening the mood than changing the subject did. "The minimum wage pay and the trust fund and the camaraderie with your fellow heroes? Surely those are too precious to be thrown away."

"Camaraderie, sure," she mutters bitterly. "Just between the two of us? Not worth it, not in this city. The pay sucks. The trust fund is mine, and the Protectorate can't take it away unless they can convict me of committing a crime in my cape identity. That was established back in 1999, when a Ward sued the Protectorate for holding that over his head to try keeping him in the organization after he asked to leave."

That… is a suspiciously specific bit of trivia. "Do you guys have a class on hero law you have to take or something?" you ask instead. That would be a reasonable alternative.

"We do, but that wasn't covered in it. I've been doing some reading recently, that's all," she says, blatantly looking out the window and away from you.

Uh huh. That does not fill you with confidence, not in light of her threat to Chevalier back when you picked her up to help bring down Coil. "I know Miss Militia is your legal guardian," you say, lowering your voice even though this is probably the least confidential matter you have spoken about so far. "If – hypothetically – you wanted to leave the Wards, would you even be allowed to? Wouldn't you need her approval to do that?"

The smile Missy gives you is tight. "Believe it or not, no. A minor needs a legal guardian to sign them up for the Wards in the first place, but if at any time a Ward feels that their needs are not being met by the program, they can pull out, and no one can force them to stay against their will. The Youth Guard would come down on the Protectorate like the hammer of God if they even tried it, and that would go double for Miss Militia _because_ she's my guardian and so is supposed to have my best interests in mind. They'd see it as a huge conflict of interest. That's honestly the only good thing I've found that the Youth Guard does; everything else is all about turning us into the most dysfunctional Girl Scout troop in existence when we should be out on the streets making a difference." She sighs and looks out the window. "Everyone around here says that the Brockton Bay Protectorate and Wards were mismanaged and abused, that we never ever should have been deployed against the Empire and the ABB or even the Merchants. I think maybe it's more that everyone else is just pussyfooting around instead of doing something.

"I never thought I would ever say this, but Piggy— Director Piggot, might actually have had a point. She was a nasty woman and none of us liked dealing with her, but at least she didn't waste our time."

* * *

 **How interesting… and disconcerting. Definitely disconcerting.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	148. Cloudy Skies 11-c

**DOUBLE UPDATE! If you didn't read 11.14, you're going to be very confused.**

* * *

 **Cloudy Skies 11.c**

 **Saturday, July 16**

Chevalier looked up from the week's accumulated reports as the door opened and Hannah walked in. "How was patrol?"

The patriotic parahuman shut the door behind her and dropped into the chair on the other side of his desk. "Well as could be expected, I suppose," she said, pulling her scarf down to reveal the rest of her face. "There were no crimes in progress on our route, but we found more tags."

"Whoever it is, they are becoming bolder." He frowned. They had been finding gang tags in previously gang-free areas for a few weeks now. The first were crude to the point of incomprehension, but a few budding graffiti artists had made it clear the images were supposed to be of a wolf's head. The problem was that there were no local gangs that used that emblem, and they were encroaching farther and farther inwards.

"It gets worse."

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and tapped the screen a few times before turning it to face him. The image she had taken was of a basic tag spray painted onto a brick wall. What was new were the words below the design: _'Eat Everything'_. He glanced up and shook his head. "I don't understand."

"I wish I didn't. Eat Everything. E E." Hannah scowled. "I used to see that everywhere back in Brockton Bay. It's one of many subtle ways to refer to the Empire Eighty-Eight. We have _Nazis_ carving out a foothold here."

"I thought they were wiped out after they broke through the containment wall around Brockton Bay." He distinctly remembered that from reading some of the after-action reports that were made available to him in his capacity as head of a Protectorate branch. Learning the slightly awkward Calamity Witch had an ability that more than earned her moniker was stressful enough, let alone that she had singlehandedly killed an entire gang's worth of capes in one blow.

She shook her head. "The capes in Calamity Witch's pocket dimension were killed. Two capes were outside. Victor died, but Cricket escaped along with the unpowered members and whatever cape they had that triggered in the building the other heroes were assaulting. More than enough to move to a new city and start pulling in sympathizers to their ideology. It's widespread enough, unfortunately."

Another new gang. Perfect. "Is it bad I almost hope they run into Jotunn's capes? For once, his greed for turf might work in our favor. How did Starmetal do?" he asked, changing the subject to something a little more palatable.

Hannah hesitated for a moment. "Well enough. I keep comparing him to the Wards from Brockton and how quickly they progressed. They were criminally misused, but they picked up protocol extremely quickly. Probably because it was a matter of survival. His constant need for validation is... grating, I will admit."

"He has an inferiority complex," Chevalier said, holding back his thoughts on her earlier statements. He certainly agreed with her assessment of the Wards' misuse, and he had not missed that she was ignoring her own contribution to that situation. It was not— No, it _was_ her fault in part, but her tendency to follow orders unthinkingly was not unknown. It was why there were multiple comments in her files recommending against putting her in charge of a Protectorate branch. As a second-in-command who would turn policies and directives into action, she was one of the best, but she did not have the personality to take charge long-term. No, the majority of the blame in Brockton Bay fell on Armsmaster and Emily Piggot's shoulders.

"You mentioned that. I can understand the need to praise him as he progresses but still be irritated by the need. It is not as if he is slow to pick things up. One thing he does need to learn, however, is how to keep information secret. I do not mind him casually making mention of his home life in privacy, but doing it on patrol gives anyone listening too many clues they could use to figure out his identity."

"I'll bring it up to him tomorrow, but I have to say it's nice to have a Ward who is so open with us. He's made comments to me as well, on base anyway, enough to get a general idea of the kind of environment he grew up in. Single parent, always working. Never got a lot of validation and support at home, so he bonded to the first group that was willing to take him in. Typical story of the nice kid falling in with the wrong crowd." It was likely exacerbated by his feelings of never being good enough, though that one they could use to their advantage. So long as he felt a sense of belonging with the Protectorate, he was unlikely to leave.

"What do you plan to do with Starmetal once he knows his way around a basic patrol?" Hannah asked. "He won't be old enough to engage in combat for a few more months, and I don't know that we can keep babysitting him until he turns eighteen."

Chevalier sighed. "I am still weighing my options on that. One of the ideas I had, though I still haven't decided if it's a _good_ idea or not, is to pair him with Vista. She knows Protectorate protocol backwards and forwards, so she will have plenty to teach him. Maybe it will also get her to be less of a pain in the ass."

Hannah sent him a glare at that comment, though she looked away with a shrug when he raised an eyebrow. It was not as if she could really argue against that description. "I worry that she will not take being paired with him well. Didn't she already express her unhappiness with how things are working to your face? Considering his own need for praise, she might take out her frustrations on him and set back his progress."

"She will put up with it if she really wants to go out on patrol. It's the only way that's going to happen."

What Vista was refusing to understand was that there were rules in place bigger than him, rules that he could not simply set aside. The Protectorate's own regulations were very clear that Wards were not to be taken on combat patrols except under specific circumstances, and even then it was limited to older Wards who were vouched for by full Protectorate members. They could go on patrols through safer areas where they were not expected to engage in any fights, the so called 'show patrols', but even then the Youth Guard had imposed age requirements. Wards younger than fifteen years of age were not permitted on those patrols without a senior Ward or a Protectorate member accompanying them. Before Starmetal had agreed to join them on a probationary basis, all of the Wards were too young to go on even the safest of patrols on their own. In a perfect world, he could send an adult hero with them, but Philadelphia was the smallest main branch in the Protectorate with three heroes, and even sparing one of their members to show Starmetal the ropes was putting a strain on them.

Without any older Wards or adults he could spare to chaperone the Wards, Vista had by pure necessity been benched. He had no way around it.

He glanced over at the year-long calendar he had pinned to his wall, something that had become more and more common as his tolerance for Vista's behavior waned. September fourteenth was circled, and written within in red ink were the words _'1 more year'_. He had more than a year before he could even begin to loosen the restrictions on her, no matter how much she whined and complained.

The Youth Guard were justified in their need to put rules and restrictions in place. The courts and Congress had certainly thought so, and looking at the examples of behavior they had brought forth as evidence, he personally could not disagree. His problem lay in the fact that while those restrictions were meant to prevent the Protectorate from turning Wards into child soldiers, they gave him little latitude for deprogramming one who already existed.

It was not as if Chevalier could not sympathize with her position. When he hit his four year anniversary of being a hero, he had already been in the Protectorate proper for a year and change. Having the kind of experience she did – even if that experience was by and large the kind she should not have had in the first place – but still being limited by her age would be frustrating to anyone. He had tried everything he could to engage her in other ways, including arranging extra training exercises with the teams from Boston and New York and encouraging her to take a leadership role and help educate Flambé and Cherry Bomb in the ins and outs of being a professional hero. If she had tried even minimally to meet him halfway, they probably would have something worked out by now. Not a perfect solution, but at least a compromise they could both tolerate until she turned fifteen and had more leeway.

Far from compromising, Vista had instead dug her heels in deeper and deeper, disdaining anything that was not related to live combat. And instead of helping her find some peace, Chevalier was increasingly tempted to restrict her to base permanently or even transfer her _anywhere else_ where she could be some other branch's problem child.

Maybe Anchorage. She could both metaphorically and literally cool her heels until she learned how to play nice with others.

"You look exhausted," Hannah remarked, looking at him more closely. He opened his mouth to deny it, but she was already continuing, "Finish that up and get some rest. I'll head out on your patrol in a couple of hours."

He smiled faintly. For all her faults, Hannah was still one of the heroes he most liked having around. He had ever since their days in the inaugural Wards. It was the reason he had requested her specifically when the Brockton Bay branch was dismantled. As a second-in-command, there was no one he would rather have at his right hand. "Thanks."

* * *

 **This interlude was written in part because of the players' outcry after last chapter because "poor Vista is being so mistreated by mean old Chevalier". Even then, there were still some people who wanted to blame Chevalier for everything instead of recognizing that he's in just as undesirable a position as Vista is. The restrictions he has means he** _ **can't**_ **do what he'd like to help her.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	149. Cloudy Skies 11-15

**AndreyKl:** There is a "conflict drive" with naturally triggered parahumans, yes, but that isn't common knowledge even to the Protectorate. I think it was known basically only to Cauldron.

 **kuriboh1233, vysirez, Jack Inqu:** I implied in the interlude that Chevalier has had more than one sit-down with Vista to explain the restrictions he and she are both under. All she cared about was the underlying message "I'm not allowing you out on patrol".

* * *

 **Cloudy Skies 11.15**

 **Monday, July 18**

Actinic blue light flashes behind you, and you reach backwards to wave Vista to join you. You know it is Vista for two simple reasons: first, she is the only human right now to have a teleporter beacon that lets her flash back and forth to Dragon and Tim's Vancouver workshop. The Unison Devices and Tim's Guardian Beasts can use the transporter pads, too, but they are all present and accounted for.

Second, you specifically invited her over. After what she told you Saturday, she needs a break from the Wards and their rules. What better way to do that than going to another world where no one has even heard of the PRT?

"Hey, guys—"

"Quiet, please," interrupts Nostromo, not looking up from the Bakuda bomb he is carefully tweezing apart. "Flame witch and little one are bothering us. This is delicate work. One mistake and you, we, and Sir are all dead."

You turn to face Vista – or Missy, actually, as she is not wearing her costume at the moment – and whisper, "I guess that's our cue to head out. Sam, you coming?"

"Like you could keep me here," she retorts. Grabbing her whip-sword from the table beside her, she clips the scabbard onto her belt. She gives you a shrug at your raised eyebrow. "What? It never hurts to be prepared, and this is a lot more convenient than my harpoon. Probably not as sturdy, but more convenient."

Something zips out from behind a door and stops a couple of feet in front of your face. "If I may make a request?" says Cassiel, her hands behind her back and her fluffy wings fluttering. "I would… appreciate the opportunity to join you more than I can express. Being surrounded by Tinkers is boring as I do not share their skills or interests, and other than the excursion last week, I have yet to be permitted to 'stretch my wings', so to speak."

"Taylor!" Missy says in a shocked voice. "How could you keep Cassie locked up like that? That's cruel!"

Samantha snorts behind you; she does not like the idea of giving Ziz even an inch more freedom, but apparently she isn't above a laugh at your expense. "It's not cruel. She's just grounded." You tilt your head to give the fairy a narrowed look. She may have tricked you into giving her a body, but this ploy to earn Vista's favor is shockingly blatant for the world's greatest manipulator. "And she knows what she did."

"And I'm sure she's sorry," Missy says as she raises her left hand palm-up. "You can come with us, Cassie. I'll protect you from the big bad Calamity Witch."

You roll your eyes while Cassiel does a midair backflip and flutters over to bounce off Missy's palm onto her shoulder. It would serve the lying fairy right for you to reveal her previous nature, but on the other hand, this could also serve as a good test of just how successful Dragon's attempts at rehabilitation have been. « _Keep an eye on her, will you, Sam?_ »

« _Just the one? I plan on keeping both eyes and the point of a sword on her at all times._ »

"So where are we going?" Missy asks when the four of you leave the room where Tim and his Beasts were working. "Your text just said that you were planning a trip and invited me along."

Gripping her shoulder, you give her a grin. "I have no idea. Let's find out."

Teleportation between worlds takes a tiny bit longer than teleporting across Earth Bet, and Missy seems to notice when you appear in a field of iridescent wildflowers. "That was weird," she says before she takes a long look around. Her expression slowly morphs from curiosity to confusion, and from there to suspicion. "Taylor, where are we? Something's not right. The air smells… strange."

"You mean clean." She gives you a nod, and you wave a hand towards the horizon. "That, my friend, is the smell of a world without industry. All the pollution we're used to smelling back home doesn't exist here."

"Another _world_?! You mean like Earth Aleph?" Missy looks at everything with widened eyes and renewed fascination. "So this is Earth… Gimel? Isn't that supposed to be the next on the list?"

"Earth Vav, actually. I haven't yet gone to Aleph, but this is the fifth world I have set foot on. It's also the most pleasant so far."

Missy follows you when you start walking through the odd flowers, and you catch her plucking one and holding it up so she and Cassiel can sniff it. With a giggle, the little fairy levitates it behind Missy's ear. Ziz had _better_ be acting like this because it is her new nature, you think to yourself, because if not, getting stuffed in a box and buried forever would be _preferable_ to what you will do to her.

"How come you haven't gone to Aleph yet?" the other girl asks, blind to your dark thoughts.

You take a moment to think about it, and the answer you come up with surprises you. "Honestly? Because Aleph doesn't really have anything Bet doesn't. We're pretty equal in terms of culture and technology. The other worlds so far have proven to be more interesting. Gimel doesn't have any humans living on it because there, dinosaurs never went extinct. That's where Shipwright's Guardian Beasts came from; they started out as actual velociraptors. Dalet, from what little I saw of it, looks like it's still in the 1600s or something." You went back to explore yesterday, and while you kept out of sight, what you did see answered a few questions and raised many more. Their lack of technology made it clear that whoever built the base you looted, the base that belonged to Cauldron, it was not someone native to that world. "Earth He is the first place I thought to take us to, but when I went there this morning to scope out a safe landing point I saw that it was a volcanic wasteland. There might have been some ruins in the distance, but that's a trip for another time, and probably one I'll make by myself. Other people aren't exactly fireproof," you add with a telling look behind you at Missy.

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in." She turned to the side and said in a mutter pitched loud enough for you to clearly hear it, "Witch."

"That's my name!"

You crest the top of a hill and look out over the fields and the woods beyond. "Now this world? I don't know a single thing about it. I popped out the same place we just did, and as soon as I saw the air itself wouldn't outright kill us, I figured we could explore it and find out just what it's like together. So fair warning, it might be full of terrible monsters that want to eat us for lunch."

"Ah ha," Missy says. She lifts her left arm and admires how the light glints off the chromed surfaces of her heavy combat prosthetic. "That's why you told me to bring the boom but still said I wouldn't need my costume. I had wondered."

"Better safe than sorry, and it isn't like anyone who sees your face is ever going to be able to identify you." You wave a hand at the gloriously open spaces in front of you. "How do you want to explore? We could walk or warp or fly. Your choice."

She stares blankly at you for a moment. "You do remember I can't fly, right?"

Your response is simply to transform into your Barrier Jacket and twist your wrist to fling your staff in her direction. Upon a mental command, it stops in midair and turns parallel to the ground. "You can't fly, but you can ride. It can take my weight without any issue, and I'm taller than you and probably weigh more. This way we'll stick together."

Missy looks at the staff and then at her left arm, no doubt trying to estimate how much weight the armored prosthetic adds. "It doesn't look very comfortable."

"For long trips, there's no way I'd ride it if I couldn't fly. It should be okay for a short exploration though."

For a moment you wonder if she really is afraid of heights – she has complained before about the way you fly – but with dogged determination she straddles the staff. "Cassie, can you fly fast enough to keep up with us?"

"I am capable of maintaining my grip," the fairy says instead, clutching a relatively large section of Missy's shirt with both hands.

You take to the air as a group, and as soon as you start flying in a particular direction you notice everything in front of you twisting and turning. A glance flicked in Vista's direction proves that she is in fact contracting space to make your journey that much faster. "You look disturbed," you say after a few seconds watching her.

"It's so strange," she tells you, her eyes moving here and there as you travel. Even with her looking around, you wonder if she is doing most of her 'seeing' with a sixth sense she developed alongside her spatial warping. "I'm used to doing this inside of cities. There's always a crack or a tear; someplace where a lot of people are that I can't warp. They're everywhere, constantly surrounding me. But this, it's like… It's like I'm looking at a perfectly pristine expanse of clay for the first time. I can knead it and mold it however I like."

The sheer wonder in her voice makes you wonder if you shouldn't bring her with you the next time you go off-world, even if it is to a lava-filled hellhole. Surely Tim could whip up something to keep her safe.

A frown crosses her face, and she turns to the side slightly. "Except for that wrinkle right there."

"Other people?"

"I think so?" She shrugs. "Let's check it out."

Turning your flight path, it doesn't take long for you to find what she felt, though you can't help but stare at it in surprise. Aleph and Bet are modern societies; even Dalet is only a few centuries behind your world technology-wise. But these people? You look over their dried mud huts and the bronzy look of the tools propped up against the walls. This looks like an illustration straight out of your history book of incredibly ancient cultures.

Behind the village itself is a wide field filled with wheat, and as you drift closer you see the inhabitants working within it. The proximity, unfortunately, also gives them the chance to see _you_. One of the villagers looks up to meet your eyes, and immediately he start yelling something incomprehensible. It gets the attention of everyone else down there, and for a moment you are afraid they will run for whatever weapons they have on hand.

You don't expect them to drop the things in their hands and prostrate themselves on the ground.

Missy's eyes show her to be just as confused as you are. Floating down to the ground, you can hear them all chanting something. "Storm, is there any chance at all you can get us a translation?"

" _Recording language. Connecting to Agharti radio. Will attempt connection to Earth Bet global communication network to cross-reference vocabulary."_

Make it fast, you think to yourself. Your boots touch the ground, but the moment you take a step forward you know there's something wrong going on here. The young woman nearest to you draws back even through she is already several feet away, as if she is afraid of being even this close.

"They probably don't speak English, do they?" Missy asks, joining you on the ground and letting your staff return to your side.

"I highly doubt it."

Your short exchange earns you the curiosity of one boy, maybe five years old, who looks up from the ground and meets your eyes. You give him a smile, which is apparently the wrong thing to do. The woman next to him grabs the back of his cloth vest and pulls him under her, her own chanting becoming louder and more desperate.

"Remember what you said about how I wouldn't need a mask?" She points to the people bowing before them. "I think they're going to recognize me if we ever come back."

" _Mistress, full cross-reference not feasible. Language not recorded in history of Earth Bet. Linguistic analysis suggests most similar to Uto-Aztecan language family. Few words translatable."_

Aztec? Weird. You cast an eye over their clothing. Admittedly, you don't know much about Aztec clothing, but you are pretty sure that woman over there is wearing an Indian sari, and a man a few rows closer has a beaded vest. Not to mention that their skin tone is less Hispanic and more Middle Eastern than anything.

"Which words can you make out?" Anything would be better than stumbling in the dark.

"' _Apology', 'mercy'… and 'goddess'."_

You stare at the gem of your Device. You had to have heard that wrong. "Goddess."

" _Affirmative, mistress."_

"I… guess that makes sense," Missy says after a beat. "People put parahumans on a pedestal already, and that's on our world. For a bunch of people still stuck in the Stone Age, just the ability to fly could be seen as divine."

"I think they're in the Bronze Age, actually," you respond for lack of anything better to say.

"Whatever. What I'm more concerned about is why they're saying sorry and asking for mercy."

Now that is a very good question, and you think you know where Missy is going with this. If parahumans are viewed as gods, all it would take is one villain deciding to reveal themself to earn all the worship and devotion they could ever want. It would explain why they refuse to meet your eyes and act so afraid of you. "Can you go through whatever Aztec dictionary you analyzed and try to figure out the word for 'temple' in their language?" you ask your staff as righteous fury starts to burn in your chest. "I want to meet any other _gods_ they have running around."

The Intelligent Device spits out a few words, and the same boy that looked at you mutters something from beneath his mother. You take a few steps closer to the pair and kneel on the ground in front of them. They both look up, the mother with terror dancing in her eyes and the boy with simple curiosity. A gesture deconstructs your hat and mask in a rippling wave of orange light so they can see your full face. "Ask them again where the temple is."

The boy climbs up to his feet and points to his right and behind him before jabbering a few more words. You ignore them and give him a couple of pats on the head, which delights him even if his mother looks like she is about to have a heart attack. This probably is not the most diplomatic thing you can do, but you don't want them to think that people with powers are all terrible, and maybe if they see a 'goddess' being pleased with getting directions, his mother won't punish him for speaking up.

Standing back up to your full height, you toss the staff to Missy again and rise into the air. "We have a destination now. How do you feel about leading a religious revolution?"

Missy slams her armored fist into her fleshy palm. "Taylor, you take me on the _best_ field trips ever, you know that?"

You would estimate that the village is five miles or so from the temple, and taking in the white stones and imposing height you decide that it is most certainly a temple that would be considered fit for a living goddess. Several tall gaps ring the top of the building like windows, and it is through these that your group slips inside to get a better look at what is happening.

It is beyond obvious which of the many individuals within is considered the goddess. She lounges in a throne and is bedazzled in white cloth and gold jewelry, the walls and floor around her surrounded by impossibly large green wasps, each one well over a foot in length. The man standing to her side is not quite as fancily dressed, but his decorations are still miles and miles above what anyone else is wearing.

Part of that discrepancy is due to the fact that other than a pair of guards with spears and leather armor standing at attention on either side, every other person in the room is kneeling in three lines and wearing nothing more than loincloths. A curtain at one end of the room near the throne is pulled open by another richly dressed individual, this woman with skin several shades darker than the Master-turned-queen. She walks up to the first line of people and holds out her hand, and from her palm shines a brilliant emerald light.

Missy gasps as the light hits the man in front, causing him to scream and writhe on the ground. It is not for the sole sake of torturing him, however. From each side of his ribcage sprouts a thin, bent spine, and his skin stretches and turns smooth. His limbs and then his body shrink. Gossamer growths tear their way out of his back and unfurl. The tight skin hardens and changes color.

When the light fades, the wasp flutters its wings and takes to the air to join its fellows.

The Master stands and begins making what you can only assume is a villainous monologue, but you are no longer listening. Your burning anger finds a fellow in Missy's snarl. "This _will not_ continue," she snaps.

"On that, we are in agreement." You tighten your grip on the staff. "I should be able to hit the capes with one Solar Wrath—"

"Not with all the innocents in there too. Remember, I've seen what that attack does. You'd risk bringing the building down on top of them. If they weren't there, trust me, I'd already be firing my particle cannon, lethal or not. This is the kind of thing the Slaughterhouse 9 got away with."

You glance over at Samantha to find her teeth bared as though she itches to sink them into someone's throat. The only member of your group who is not caught up in anger is Cassiel, whose own crimes put this to shame. "How are we going to handle this, then?" you finally ask.

Missy is silent for several moments, only speaking up again when the so-called goddess's speech is over and her henchwoman steps up to transmogrify another prisoner. "Okay. I have a plan. Let's just hope it works."

* * *

 **Confession time. The real reason I wouldn't let the players use Solar Wrath or Vista's particle cannon here is because blasting people with massive laser beams when they don't know you're around and have no defense against such attacks doesn't make for a great fight scene.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	150. Cloudy Skies 11-16

**Cloudy Skies 11.16**

Missy points at the man standing beside the Master cape. "Anyone have any idea what he does? If we were back home, I could maybe take a guess based on his costume, but here…"

You shake your head, as does Samantha.

"I could attempt postcognition on him, but the utility would depend on when he last used his powers. More than three days, and it would be beyond my sight. I would in all probability spend more time determining this than would be required to defeat him," volunteers Cassiel. You, in turn, blink in surprise. You knew that her powers had been altered during her conversion to Device-dom, but you never would have guessed that it was to this degree.

"So he's a total unknown. Okay. I'll deal with him." Missy looks at you and gestures to her gleaming metal arm, as though she thinks she needs to convince you of her plan. Which, considering how the Wards have been treating her, she may think she does. "Of the four of us, I have the most experience fighting capes, and my power makes me a hit and run powerhouse. Samantha, you take on Blaster."

"That's what we're calling her?" the Guardian Beast asks in a droll voice. "Not even a nickname, just her threat designation?"

"Mocking nicknames are for banter or hammy-type heroes. I'm not that good at either. Anyway, you have the best defense out of all of us, which may help counter the effects of her power. Plus, she might not be able to change you at all since you aren't fully human, but don't take any unnecessary risks. I'll be honest, she's the most problematic of the three of them. Capes with powers that let them change people into other forms are incredibly rare. There's no way to know what will happen.

"Taylor, you get Master. You can put her down the easiest out of all of us."

"Because I can attack multiple targets at once," you guess, looking at the several dozen gigantic insects flying and crawling around. "Which means I get the joy of dealing with the wasps."

Missy nods. "Be careful with them, though. We just saw them make those wasps out of people, so they are victims more than anyone else. I don't know if the change is permanent or not or if they're conscious or not, but either way they deserve not to be burnt to death."

"I can try holding them down with telekinesis, but I don't know if I can get all of them. It depends on how much they weigh."

"I can assist with that." You look over at Cassiel, who is staring back at you with her arms crossed. "One of my abilities is empowering another's telekinetic effects. Should we enter Unison, we would enjoy greater strength than either of us has alone, and I could devote my attention to the containment of the wasps while you focus on the cape."

"Unison is where you merge with my Linker Core, right?" Tim had explained that to you at one point while he was building Dragon's new body, though it was not your main interest at the time. "How do I know you won't screw something up while you're in there?"

"I will be cautious," she says, though she immediately proves this promise a smokescreen for Missy's benefit. « _You continue to assume I have a hidden agenda and will betray you given the most meager opportunity. You, Samantha, Timothy, even Dragon to some extent. I tricked the world. I manipulated you. I do not deny these actions. I have, however, no need to further deceive you. Thanks to your actions, I have what I wanted. Antagonizing you is of no value, not when you and your allies are both my greatest threats and my greatest opportunity for entertainment._ » She smiles, the expression alien on her face. "All I ask is that you lend me the most minor degree of trust."

You are going to regret this, you just know it. "Alright. Let's give it a shot."

The wicked fairy gives you a look that is pure Ziz and begins to glow with a gentle white light before slipping inside you. The presence of the Unison Device creates a disturbingly pleasant fullness in your core, and you stumble as warmth washes through your limbs. A lock of your normally black hair falls in front of your face, now bleached to a pure snow white. "Oh."

« _Indeed._ » You can all too easily visualize Cassiel, her wings spread out as she hovers in the middle of a pulsing red background. « _This is Unison, a merge that grants both of us power beyond what we are otherwise capable. There will be minor cosmetic changes as a result of our magics mixing. Do not be concerned; they are not permanent. Now, let us crush our enemies._ »

"We want the wasps left alive, remember," you remind her. Raising your staff over your head, you look down at the capes and captives below. "We move on three. One… two…"

Missy and Samantha brace themselves against the base of the wide open window you all stand within, and a distortion appears in front of the former.

"Three."

They push off their perch and fly through the air, and your arm and staff swing downwards. You can feel the magic streaming from your Linker Core swell as Cassiel adds her own push to the spell. Without warning, every single one of the wasps falls to the ground. They wiggle and push, but they cannot rise back into the air. That is also when your allies reappear and everything turns to chaos.

Another gesture on your end rips the spears away from the guards and slings them towards the Master. The spears cross paths and dig into the stone walls, pinning the villainous cape in place. Without weapons, the guards cannot stop the half-naked prisoners from standing and shoving them away before running for safety.

A flicker grabs your attention, and you watch the man Missy is desperately trying to punch in the head collapse into a column of flickering ghostly flames at the same time that another burst of flames heralds his reappearance. A short-range teleporter, and one with a power all too reminiscent of one of the Butcher's abilities. Fantastic. Missy dives at him again, but this time instead instead of faintly blue fire that greets her it is an explosion of the real thing. The flames part when they reach her to reveal the younger heroine crouched behind her green hardlight shield. A look around herself, and the chase begins again.

Samantha, on the other hand, seems to be comfortable blocking the Blaster's attacks with her blade, though you get the impression that she is playing with her food just a little bit.

« _You good?_ » you ask your passenger as you finally float down to ground level.

« _Perfect. I would not be able to restrain all combatants like this without Unison. It is an exquisite feeling. It reminds me of what I was once capable._ » Apparently she can feel your mouth twitch in disapproval because she continues, « _My current body is a substantial improvement, as is my new freedom, but that does not prevent me from mourning the diminishment of my abilities. As you would be doing if you considered the options available to you had you a pet Endbringer at your side. Am I incorrect?_ »

« _Not answering that question._ »

The Master slips out from under the spears bracketing her in place, displaying a degree of flexibility that you are honestly envious of, and is now shouting at you. You can't understand a word of it, but if you had to guess it would be something along the lines of 'how dare you interfere in my total dictatorial control over these worthless normies'. Philadelphia, New York, and even Brockton Bay introduced you to the idea of honorable villains, but this chick does not appear to be cast from that mold. She rips one of the spears from the wall and rushes at you, clearly intending to sink the iron point deep into your unprotected belly.

Too bad for her that your Barrier Jacket is a full body forcefield. The spear skitters over your flank without so much as scratching you, and you switch the hand holding your staff so you can slam your fist into her face. Sometimes being as hard to hurt as a Brute just isn't fair. Once she is on the ground, you conjure rings of orange mana to hold her limbs in place with a nod. That should keep her in one spot for a while.

A scream interrupts your self-congratulations. Spinning around, you find Samantha lying on the ground, the Blaster standing over her focusing that dreadful emerald beam onto her. Far faster than the people the Blaster had changed, your Guardian Beast is replaced by a gigantic insect. Had the Blaster prolonged the transformation on the men just to torture them, or does Samantha's nature actually make her more vulnerable to this effect?

The Blaster turns to you, jagged and rotting teeth bared in a triumphant sneer, and raises her hand towards you. It is at that moment that her newest wasp explodes into a grey blur. A prehistoric raccoon the size of a bear slams into her chest and neck with a growl, strangling her cry for help, and a quick twist of the animal's head sends a splash of crimson flying into the air.

Samantha. Is. Pissed.

A few more rips and tears, and Samantha shifts back into her normal human shape. "You shouldn't have played around with her in the first place," you tell her.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I was expecting my own shapeshifting would protect me from her. Which was right; I just underestimated how much it was going to hurt." She grabs her sword from the ground and slides it back into the scabbard. "I'm just going to go help Vista out now."

You look at the cat-and-mouse game that fight has become and shake your head. "Let me handle it." The code for Ring Bind spins around and around in your mind, and as soon as he solidifies again you let the spell go. Fire flies everywhere, but when the effect clears he is still stuck in place.

Missy warps right in front of him and backhands him in the face with her prosthetic arm, sending a couple of teeth flying from the impact. "I _hate_ teleporters! Taylor, tell me how you got him to stay put like this. I need to know."

"Ring Bind locks the target's wrists and ankles in one place in space. It keeps them from running away, but the mechanics keep them from teleporting too," you say with a shrug. It is not an effect you have needed often, mostly because teleporters do not grow on trees, but it is a nice contingency plan to have in your pocket.

"What is it with you making me jealous of your magic…" Missy trails off and frowns. "Do you hear that?"

You listen, and now that no one is talking or teleporting you can hear a dull buzzing that is steadily growing louder and louder. A glance up reveals the source: an immense cloud of insects that is starting to crawl its way down the walls of the temple. You look knowingly over at the Master cape, who stares back at you with a glare of naked hatred.

"Hey, Missy? Now that it's just us in here and the threat is above us, any reason not to go with the big flashy area attacks?"

She sends you a tight smile. "Be my guest."

A beam of yellow and orange fire rips through the swarm like sunlight through night, incidentally erasing the roof of the temple in the process. You shake your head; any chance of this being subtle – already unlikely considering you broke up an execution and let the prisoners scatter – is well and truly gone now.

The bug 'goddess' is back to screaming and cursing you in her language, but you have had more than enough of this. A mental command deploys an arc of mana from your staff, and you let the ten-thousand-degree blade sink a couple of inches into the ground before you start walking towards her. The stone floor is no match for the flare mana making up the spell, allowing you to carve out a trench as you drag the blade sideways to maximize the visual effect. The villain's diatribe trails off as you approach, and by the time you hold the blade up to her cheek so she can feel the unholy amount of heat radiating from it, all she can do is stare up at you with wide eyes. The hatred for your actions she previously held replaced by pure and oh-so-mortal terror.

"You aren't a god," you tell her. "You aren't something special. You're just another thug who had a shit day and gained a couple of tricks."

"Taylor, she can't understand us," Samantha reminds you.

"I know. It probably wouldn't matter even if she could."

Cassiel phases out of you, causing you to gasp at the sudden feeling of loss and emptiness. "Something strange is happening to the wasps."

"And we have company," adds Missy.

Indeed, people are starting to poke their heads through the doorways and out from behind curtains, no doubt checking out what they will be faced with now that the sounds of chaos have ended. Some of them are guards carrying swords and spears, but some of them look to be regular servants. There are even some of the prisoners mixed in! You suppose this is what happens when you dethrone a living goddess, but still—

One of the wasps starts vibrating violently, and you prepare to slam it back into the ground the instant it takes off when, instead of doing what you expect, it bursts into light with an ear-ringing pop. Where the wasp once was now stands a man in a loincloth, the same man you watched the Blaster transform in the first place. He looks around him in confusion for a moment before the memories of the last hour or so hit him. He flees the room and finds comfort in the company of his fellow prisoners.

Another wasp pops.

Is it because the Blaster is dead, you wonder as you watch the wasps change back to normal. They are not all men, either; several turn out to be women, and a couple of them even run to the guards to be greeted with hugs and kisses. "I don't think this was just a punishment," you whisper to Samantha and Missy. "They took these people hostage, too."

No matter how quiet your voice is, it still gets the attention of all the natives of this world. They stare at you before several of them drop to the floor and start another chanting prayer.

"Nope. We're not dealing with this." You give Samantha and Missy a telekinetic tug to draw them closer. "Cassiel, get down here. We're leaving."

"You don't want to stay and enjoy being worshipped?" asks Missy with a teasing grin.

"Not a chance."

* * *

 **This entire setting was a fun to write. :)**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	151. Cloudy Skies 11-17

**Guest:** Yep, I might have picked the bug goddess as a Skitter analogue. :)

 **Fencer-22, Jack Inqu:** What's going to happen now? Well, keep in mind that you have a pair of defeated gods and a bunch of people in an AZTECAN society…

* * *

 **Cloudy Skies 11.17  
** **Wednesday, July 20**

It is to a sunny day that you appear in the skies above Los Angeles. Three in the afternoon is the soonest Alexandria was able to fit you into her busy schedule after you gave her a call earlier that very morning, though the fact that she was able to find time the very same day made it clear just how important she considers this meeting. The topic of said meeting, of course, is the briefcase you recovered from Cauldron's base.

You dearly hope giving her the entire case with both its vials is not going to come back to bite you in the butt. You highly doubt Alexandria is going to use them against you or anything, and you don't have anyone in mind to give them to anyway, but all day while you were waiting for this meeting you could not help but worry about whether the vials _could_ be useful to your group or to Philadelphia in general sometime in the near future. You had to balance the chances of needing them with the promise of information now, not to mention how… displeased Alexandria would be if you tried pulling a fast one on her.

"Huh," Samantha says, pulling your attention from the skyline. "I just realized. After today, we'll have been in all three of the Triumvirate's offices."

"I don't think our trip to Houston really counts. That wasn't Eidolon's office; it was a conference room," you point out.

"True, but Eidolon isn't one of the Triumvirate anymore, either, not after retiring. So 'close enough' is just fine for that one. It's probably the closest he gets to an office anymore."

You roll your eyes at that and start the descent to the Protectorate base below you.

Just like in Houston, the guards at the ceiling entrance were clearly briefed on your expected arrival, and one of them leads you into the building and through hallways decorated in a vaguely postmodern style, all glass walls and a few twisted statue-things. "Rime," is the only answer he gives when Samantha asks. He knocks on a door and opens it to let you inside. In contrast to the delicate design of the main base, the interior of Alexandria's office is as spartan and stoic as the woman herself. There is little personality on display here; just a photo of the original four Protectorate, a painting of a mountain, and one of those stereotypical black and brass name plates that you see on people's desks. Most of the space is actually taken up by a large table that you swear is made out of concrete of all things, with a few baskets sitting on the top and on the floor in place of drawers.

It is the table you expect would appeal to a Brute of Alexandria's caliber. It is resilient enough to handle a few smacks of her hand, and if shit really hit the fan she could probably pick it up and use it as an impromptu weapon.

"Thank you, Agent Maxwell," Alexandria tells the man. He salutes and closes the door behind him, and she picks up a gunmetal cylinder from a nearby shelf and sets it on her desk. A press of the large button on the top causes the windows to darken and the door to click before a low hum surrounds you. "This conversation is one I would rather not have anyone else overhear," she explains before you can ask. "Now. Do you have it?"

You exchange a look with Samantha before standing up. "Storm, the briefcase."

" _Unsealing."_

Orange light shines onto the desk, and the shiny metal briefcase materializes. Alexandria wastes no time opening it. "My god. I would have been happy with one, but you found two?"

"We didn't go all the way through the base," you tell her. "Partly because it didn't look secure, and partly because I want to know just what Cauldron did with them. I couldn't help but notice that these were supposed to go to a villain of all people."

She nods, no doubt recognizing the implicit threat. There might be more vials in Cauldron's base, but she needs to give you a good answer if she wants you go looking for more. She cannot simply spin a nice story, either, for unbeknownst to her you have the information Cassiel gave you for comparison.

If their stories do not match at least a little, though, you may have no choice but to treat them both as lies. When one was the benefactor of a shadowy conspiracy and the other an Endbringer, either could be lying.

"I did promise to explain Cauldron's methodology," the other heroine says. "Their motives are related. I ask that you do not dismiss what I am about to tell you out of hand. When they first told me, I thought they were insane, but I promise you that it is the truth.

"To start with, parahuman powers are not natural. The reason they first appeared in the eighties is because that is when their source arrived to our world. Said source was a pair of extradimensional alien lifeforms."

"I would have a much harder time believing this if I hadn't run into the TSAB," you admit, "but from the way you're talking, I'm going to assume that these aliens are not humans from an alternate Earth."

"Correct. These creatures, these 'Entities', are entirely different creatures than us. They did not come to our world with peaceful intentions, either. They came to use us like lab rats."

"You sound very sure of that," Samantha points out.

She nods. "We are. One of the Entities crashed on that world where Cauldron built its base. A girl there received an incredibly powerful precognitive ability, and with it she was able to determine their intent. They planned on granting abilities as a means of improving their own use of those powers, and after they obtained that data they would consume all nearby worlds to fuel their journey to the next planet. She and another individual killed the creature before it could recover and set out to do the same to its fellow."

You frown thoughtfully. This all sounds disturbingly similar to what you remember from when Cassiel told you about the Endbringers' creator.

"When they realized that the other Entity was active distributing powers, they decided they needed an army to be able to destroy it before it could do the same to us. Some experimentation proved that people who ate or drank a portion of an Entity's body was liable to get powers of their own. With these vials, they sought to place capes where they were most needed. Sometimes that meant selling powers to criminals," she adds, "though even in those cases the intention was to bring stability to the criminal underworld."

Your Guardian Beast snorts. "You know what they say about underworlds and good intentions."

"A fair point, and one I cannot argue against. Things did not always work out as well as they hoped they would."

« _She keeps saying 'they', but it sounds more like she was right there in center of everything,_ » Samantha whispers in your mind.

« _I noticed that, too._ » Returning your full attention to Alexandria, you ask, "What about this other Entity? I assume that is why you want the vials so badly. Where is it?"

"Best as we can determine, the other Entity is dead. It vanished when Cauldron went dark a couple of years back. I doubt you will believe me about its identity, however. Few would."

"Scion," you whisper. God, you had almost hoped Cassiel was lying about that. The idea that the 'greatest parahuman', a figure who had spawned more than one cult devoted to emulating his altruistic efforst, was an alien invader who meant to wipe out humanity in its entirety is still one that disturbs you.

Alexandria stares at you. "How did you jump to that conclusion?"

You cannot exactly tell her it is because the Simurgh told you, but thankfully you have other information you can put forward. "The other Entity would have to equally as powerful as the one Cauldron killed. It's someone no one sane would believe to be a threat to humanity. Who was the strongest cape in the world? Scion. And he died two years ago, which fits the timeline you just gave." You shake your head. "It all fits together, and still I'm having trouble believing my own logic. An alien that planned on wiping out humanity spent his time rescuing cats out of trees? It's preposterous. It's also the only answer that makes sense."

The smile she gives you is cold comfort. "This is the reason I wanted this conversation to remain private. You're absolutely right."

* * *

Light fills the kitchen when you teleport back to the home you share with Lacey and Kurt. After dropping a series of bombshells on you, Alexandria decided she was mostly done with giving you information. When asked about her plans with the vials, she said only that she was weighing her options; the only hint of her future plans she gave you at all was that she was interested in what would happen in Philadelphia now that the PRT had access to magic.

Walking out into the living room, you blink at the crowd in your living room. Kurt and Lacey are expected, of course; Tim's presence is likewise understandable. You do not think you have ever seen either of Tim's Guardian Beasts or Dragon and Cassiel in such a domestic setting, though. The boxes of pizza and the cake on the table in the middle of the room completes the strange picture.

"Did I miss somebody's birthday or something?"

Your question distracts everyone from whatever joke they were laughing at, and Dragon floats over. "Come, come! Join the party! Have you ever had pizza? Wait, of course you have. Have some anyway! I've never had it before, but it is excellent! Did you know there's garlic on the crust?"

You blink at the barrage of borderline nonsensical questions coming from the world's preeminent Tinker and look over at Tim. "The hell?"

"Don't give Unison Devices pop," he says helpfully. "I don't know if they're on a sugar high or drunk or both, but neither of them are acting right."

"That is a filthy lie," denies Cassiel. "I am not acting not right. I am one thousand percent normal."

Lacey shakes her head slightly, doing her best not to disrupt the elaborate braid the feathered fairy is telekinetically weaving in her hair. Kurt, meanwhile, is simply staring at the scene in total befuddlement. "No, she's really not."

« _Please tell me you're recording this,_ » you ask your Device after a moment's pause.

« _Aye, Mistress._ »

Blackmail material assured, you turn back to the Gadgeteer. "I thought you planned on spending all day helping out the TSAB repair their ship."

"I did. It's done." He takes a sip of his cola. "Between the materials they helped me shuttle back and forth and knowing a little bit about dimensional storage and antigravity systems, I accelerated their timetable more than any of us expected. We actually got her seaworthy again. Or spaceworthy. Whichever. Point is, they're in orbit around that planet now and trying to fix the warp engines that carry them across dimensions so they can go home.

"But _my_ day isn't the reason we're having a party," he adds with a gesture towards Lacey.

"Remember how I said I was going back to the hospital to do some healing?" she asks. "Apparently the administrators knew about it and wanted to see me in action. Once I was out of juice, they took me to their offices to chat." A wide smile bursts into being across her face. "They offered me a job!"

You return her smile with one of your own. "That's fantastic!"

"Mm-hmm. They said they want me to focus on people who have been in the hospital for a while already and people who are in the ICU. The longer I can last, the more people I'll see. And they're paying a hell of a lot more than I make now. It's over a hundred grand a year!"

That _is_ a big number. It's certainly a lot more than your dad ever brought in, and maybe as much as when your mom was still alive and working at Brocton Bay College. You know she was the breadwinner of the family, much as it must have hurt Dad's masculine pride.

"Are you working there using your own name, or did you finally pick out a _nom du héro_?" asks Samantha.

"They insisted on a cape name," Lacey says, her good mood flagging. She had not been particularly excited about that the last time you brought it up either. "I couldn't think of a good one, but someone there started calling me Aeris after my last visit, so it's good enough for now. I also heard a few people talking about how I should be careful around men with silver hair, which I know is a joke but I _don't get it_."

"I'm sure it's nothing important," Tim replies with the smile of someone who did get the joke. "Just eat some cake."

* * *

 **Blegh. Canon info rehash. I hate it.**

 **Silently Watches out.**


	152. Cloudy Skies 11-18

**replies**

* * *

 **Cloudy Skies 11.18  
** **Friday, July 22**

Evening in Philadelphia gives way to a sunny seaside cliff as you have your Device fire up a training simulation. You do not spend a lot of time in the simulator, but when you learn new spells you tend to spend an hour or so running through some tests to find their limits and getting familiar with them. The importance of doing so was made particularly poignantly when you neglected to practice using your telekinesis and got shot in the face by a grenade by MS-13 a couple of months back.

Today, you plan to use it for the same purpose, though this time it is not a new spell you want to experience but one you have had for some time and never felt brave enough to cast.

"Mistress appears distressed," says the translucent silhouette that Perfect Storm tends to prefer when materializing in this digital world.

"Distressed is the wrong word," you reply. "I'm more… anxious, I guess? There's an Endbringer fight on the way. I know it. Dragon knows it."

"What is Mistress's plan?"

You look out over the water and the sand bars just a few hundred feet away from the base of the cliff. It is so beautiful; only the fact that it is not real comforts you on just what kind of hell you are about to unleash. "Tell me more about one of my spells. Ragnarök."

"Ragnarök. Breaker-tier spell; highest category of bombardment magic. Personalized by Calamity Witch Origin and source of callsign. Destructive yield so immense nonlethal modification impossible. High probability that spell can damage or kill Endbringer."

You suspected it had a great deal of power, but it is nice to have confirmation that this is the best shot you have at hurting one of the Simurgh's brothers. Still, you cannot help but compare it to Solar Wrath. While that spell is immensely powerful, as you found out when luring the Dragonslayers into your trap, it also has the potential for just as much collateral damage. "I want to try it out."

"Understood. Initializing targets."

Down from the sky descends a massive wedge of steel, clearly an interstellar battleship. "Is that a Belkan ship?" you guess, thinking of Perfect Storm's hatred for the enemies of the Galean Empire that designed him.

"Affirmative." The Device's avatar takes to the skies, and you follow to float over the land. "Ragnarök requires large investment of magic, more than can be provided by all but strongest mages. If taken entirely from Linker Core, near guarantee casting will cause core implosion and rapid death. Calamity Witch Origin commonly used spell to absorb mana from enemy soldiers in order to supplement personal Linker Core capacity. Mistress possesses Extinction Knight subtemplate and cartridge capabilities. Will serve same function.

"Ragnarök formula number 1 loaded. Ready to cast."

You shrug. "Let's do it."

You level your staff to aim at the alien battleship, and your casting sigil appears before growing larger. It is not the exact same as the ritual circle you used when creating Samantha, but it does have an additional ring around it with an ever-changing string of code. A series of gunshots sound from the head of your staff, virtual cartridges being consumed to heighten the sense of realism. What look like three of the miniature suns of Solar Wrath appear, one at each point of the triangle. Tongues of flame stream from them towards the middle of the sigil, swirling around and around to create an even bigger ball of fire.

Even with your Barrier Jacket making you fireproof, you can still feel the ungodly amount of heat pouring off the still-building attack as well as a discomforting tightness in your chest. "Storm, please tell me thing is finished," you manage to force out through gritted teeth.

"Firing solution calculated. Variables locked. Casting finished in three… two… one…"

"Ragnarök!" you scream, and the world screams with you. The sun before you does not fire so much as explode outwards. You can _feel_ this spell reverberating through your soul, an entire planet's hate and rage collected and concentrated and ignited as death inescapable.

Just above the shrinking edge of the sun, you see the beam smash through the battleship. The midsection explodes into a rain of molten shrapnel, and the two halves of the ship fall from the sky still burning into the sea.

A wave of fatigue and nausea sweeps over you and threatens to overcome you. You drop and barely manage to use your flight spell to keep from slamming into the ground. "Storm, something's…" You swallow the vomit that wants to rise. "Something's wrong."

The silhouette joins you on the ground. "Use of cartridges sufficient for casting Ragnarök in excess of Mistress's Linker Core capacity. Result in first stage of acute mana poisoning. Symptoms simulated."

"Ugh. This is awful." You push yourself upright with the aid of your staff and stagger over to the edge of the cliff to look again at the destroyed ship. If your spell can do this, it can certainly hurt an Endbringer, though your excitement is more than tempered by your feeling of illness. "You said this was was the first stage?"

"Affirmative. Acute mana poisoning has five stages. Later stages require prolonged recovery period. Last stage is inevitably fatal." Perfect Storm visibly hesitates. "Request Mistress not put self in such condition."

You reach out and do your best to pat the shoulder of the shadowy figure that has no physical presence. "Don't worry, Storm. I'm not eager to die right now either. But I _am_ eager not to feel like shit—" The nausea vanishes before you can finish your sentence, and you shoot the representation of your Intelligent Device a smile. A thought crosses your mind, and your smile fades. "You said the first Calamity Witch personalized that spell, and you called it formula number one. Is her version the second formula?"

"Indeed. Mistress desires to experience modification?"

"Might as well. _Without_ feeling like I was poisoned, thank you very much," you warn.

The cliff beneath you abruptly disappears, and when you arrest your fall you realize the seaside vista is gone. In its place is a wide expanse of prairie, almost like you were transported to the Midwest. Below you is a city, glass towers and warehouses in the middle with shorter buildings around them. At the very edge of the city stands a stone wall, and even at this distance you can make out what look to be cannons spaced out on the top of the wall at regular intervals.

Cold dread hits you in the gut. "What is this place?" you ask, hoping against all hope that you are wrong.

It is not to be. Perfect Storm turns to look at you fully. "Representation of Belkan outpost colony."

A colony. Not a military base. Not a field of warehouses. It is a colony, which means a population where most of them are _not_ military personnel. "This is what Ragnarök is for?!" you demand. "Blowing up cities? Murdering thousands of innocent people?"

"Belkan forces attacked cities," Perfect Storm snaps back, its voice angrier than you have ever heard before. "Not efficient or impersonal. Belkan knights raped and kidnapped women and children, then _butchered_ all remaining."

A woman appears a short distance away. She is older than you by perhaps a decade, with a Barrier Jacket that is identical to your own with the exception of being stretched tight over her more generous frame. Her bronze skin goes well with her dark hair. It is her golden eyes, though, that capture your attention. They are locked on the city below, and the glare she gives it is as cold and calculating.

"Galea responded in kind."

Oriana Brevetti, the first Calamity Witch – for who else could she be? – grasps a matching staff to your own and points it at the town below. "Starfield Harvest," she growls. The same casting circle you used for Ragnarök flashes into existence, and after a moment you see streams of all the colors of the rainbow reaching up from the colony and making their way towards her. The colors hit the sigil and are absorbed; an orange aura in turn builds around Brevetti. Soon her aura shines bright enough you cannot look directly at her, and the other colors vanish.

"Ragnarök!"

The three fireballs form, but they do not merge their power like before. They instead fire their own beams at an angle. The beams collide halfway between Brevetti and the colony. From that impact is birthed what must be twenty or thirty smaller beams that fall the rest of the way.

From your position, you are in the perfect spot to watch the explosions that follow. Skyscrapers collapse. Buildings that are not immediately vaporized are instead blown apart by the shockwaves. The city bursts into flame, and everything and everyone within burns.

"Breaker-tier spells designed for hard targets," Perfect Storm says. "Starships, S-rank knights. When fired on habitations, impact site destroyed but surrounding areas unharmed. Orbital bombardment initially used to attack colony targets. Defense satellite gunneries and anti-spacecraft missiles countered strategy.

"Brevetti already had reputation as dangerous mage. Flare mana, used lethally, produce heat and radiation. Ordered to assist siege of Belkan colony world Elicoor II. Planet used as forward operations base. Multiple bombardment attempts failed. Brevetti's role to destroy defensive weapons that had crippled bomber craft.

"Too many weapons systems in place. Ships could not approach even with assistance. Subsequently Brevetti experimented with preferred Breaker spell and created formula 2. Multiple impacts with overlapping blast radii. Sneaked past anti-spacecraft guns at night and destroyed Elicoor II capitol city and major military installations. Planet captured one week later. Effectiveness of attack unprecedented. Earned Brevetti moniker 'Calamity'."

"That's enough! I don't want to hear any more!" You tear your eyes away from the scene of senseless destruction. "End simulation."

"Mistress—"

"I said stop the damn simulation!"

You open your eyes to see a normal apartment ceiling and violently wipe away the tears staining your cheeks. You have always heard that war was hell, but such a trite phrase does little to describe what you just saw and heard. Belka and Galea might have been more technologically advanced than Earth Bet, but both worlds were guilty of war crimes as far as you can see.

"Taylor?" You whip your head around to find Kurt standing in the doorway, worry painted all over his face. "Are you okay?"

You get rid of another tear threatening to fall. "I'm fine. I was doing a little research into my powers. Turns out some of them have a darker purpose than I expected." Because you had convinced yourself that there was a good and just reason why the Galeans wanted to turn people into one-woman WMDs, you scoff internally.

"That sounds… rough," he awkwardly replies. "Do you, you know, want to talk about it or something?"

"I'd really rather not."

He nods, which you expect is the end of it. Kurt has never been the most touchy-feely of people. Most of the Brockton Bay dockworkers weren't, honestly. Even the offer to listen to your complaints is unusual for him. He starts to leave but stops after a single step, and then he surprises you by coming closer and joining you on the couch.

It takes him a few halting attempts, but finally he gets out, "I owe you an apology."

"For…?"

"For how I acted during the thing last month. When the Privateers tore ourselves apart. I was… I was a dick to you. A lot of us were. I don't know everything about your powers," he admits, his words tumbling out faster and faster, "but just from what Tim and Samantha told us, it's obvious they're strong."

The smile you give him is anemic. "Alexandria all but told me she thinks I'll be Legend's successor in a few years."

His eyes bug out. "Wait. _Alexandria_ told you—?" He shakes his head. "Never mind. Wow. Uh, anyway, you're really strong. You can do so much good, but the way we saw it at the time, it looked like you weren't doing much with all that power at all."

"Not doing much?! While you guys were jumping in over your heads and trying to _kill people_ ," you say scathingly, "I was working with Dragon and some others to come up with a way to fight the Endbringers. Something that already killed the Simurgh, if you care to remember the headline news from yesterday."

You had requested that you not be named in the press conference Dragon, Legend, and the Chief Director gave yesterday afternoon to tell the world that the Hopekiller was no more, but you had nonetheless taken pride in the flabbergasted questions the reporters asked as they tried to wrap their heads around the enormity of the news. That the PRT had an experimental method to disarm Ziz-bombs – the LSD idea Cassiel had proposed – was just the cherry on top.

"I remember. It's going to be a long time before I forget, that's for sure." Kurt picks at a loose thread on his shirt. "We didn't know the reason you weren't out fighting criminals here in town was because you had bigger fish to fry. We didn't _want_ to know. That's why we didn't ask. We were too wrapped up in telling ourselves how we could do more with your powers if we had them instead."

"Are you saying you guys were _jealous_?" you ask in surprise.

The way he hangs his head is answer enough, you suppose. "I was, I can say that much. All I could see was what was going on right in front of me and how nothing was getting better. Or, maybe, how nothing was getting better fast enough to satisfy me. We were impatient, and we were upset, and we were arrogant and stupid. And we took it out on you."

You take a long moment to look at him closer. The way the militant half of the Privateers had treated you was insulting, that was for sure, but you cannot say that it really hurt you, either. You had, quite honestly, already been thinking of them as your dad's team rather than your own, no matter that you had at first planned to work alongside them. For all that he had not injured you, however, you know that his behavior had put a massive strain on his marriage, to the point that Lacey had actually considered divorcing him.

"You hurt Lacey more than you hurt me, you know," you say at last.

"I know. She already told me she doesn't know when she'll be ready to forgive me for how I treated her. I don't blame her for that, and I don't expect you to just forgive me, either." He stands up from his chair and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "I just needed to tell you I'm sorry."

* * *

 **Silently Watches out.**


End file.
